


The Little Brown Bear (Warm Bodies: Awakenings II)

by wilkwo



Category: Warm Bodies (2013), Warm Bodies - All Media Types
Genre: Afterlife, Gen, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Zombie Apocalypse, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2014-07-04
Packaged: 2018-02-07 01:08:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 49
Words: 129,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1879269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilkwo/pseuds/wilkwo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You asked me once..." he said in a quiet voice, "about the stories here." Swallowing, she nodded, "And you said-" "Some of them aren't very nice," R finished, his voice barely above a whisper as his eyes rose to meet hers... This is one of those not nice stories. </p><p>Rated M for language/intense violence. Copious hurt/comfort, and many surprises. And above all, love. </p><p>(Originally posted on Fanfiction.net)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Park

_Hello!_

_This is the monster of a sequel to my previous work 'Warm Bodies: Awakening'. I've had it up on Fanfiction.net for a while, and I've been stalling on putting it up here because it's just... so... looooooong._

_Hope you enjoy it. It's quite dark, and takes many twists and turns. Some may wonder what the heck is going on, some may read it in one night (as I found out, and it still boggles my mind), but hopefully you enjoy the trip and feel for the people who show up._

_Usual disclaimer, I do not own Warm Bodies, or the main characters within. They belong to Isaac Marion and were given a little more flesh (so to speak) by Jonathan Levine._

_This story is based on the movie, more than the book, and it will make more sense if you've read my first story - **Warm Bodies: Awakening.**_

_There is a **new chapter**  at the end of that story that leads into this one._

_Btw, this story is 127K in length over ~~50~~  49 chapters. Good luck ;) (and leave a comment when you're able!)_

* * *

"Good music?" a small voice asked to R's left.

Startled, he looked up from his lap, where he'd been intently studying his knees for no particular reason, and glanced over. A young girl, no more than nine, maybe ten, was sitting on the weathered grey park bench beside him. Her pale pink jacket and My Little Pony top were a glaring splash of color in the dull greyness of the day, and he blinked, momentarily dazed by the sight. Under her blue baseball cap, stitched with the logo of some sports team he didn't recognize, gushed a cascade of curly auburn hair. Her eyes were big, brown, and bright, only just outdone by the huge smile she was giving him as she sat there, twisting and kneading a small stuffed brown bear she held in both hands.

Surprised, he didn't answer right away, and watched her instead. Where had she come from? What was she doing here? Why was she alone? That didn't seem right.

She leaned forward and pointed, "What are you listening to?"

Looking down, he realized she was pointing to the white headphone cords snaking out of the pocket of his red hoodie.

The park was eerily quiet around them. No birds sang, no squirrels rustled through the dead leaves scattered over the dry brown grass. They were alone. He'd come to the park seeking something natural and comforting, but nothing felt natural here.

Looking back up at her, he opened his mouth to answer, and groaned.

Well that was embarrassing. He'd meant to say 'The Man Who Lives Forever' by Lord Huron. Something had happened to the words on the way out of his mouth.

R tried to apologize and answer properly, but only managed a rasping growl.

Jesus, that was pathetic. Giving up on talking, he turned to look out over the park again. The burnt out shell of a car sat overturned against an old oak tree that was just barely winning the war to stay upright, its bark scarred and blackened by the carnage below. The dark, crumbling shell of a person reached out from the shattered drivers side window, brittle twig fingers clawed into the singed turf, caught forever trying to pull themselves free.

A breeze picked up and the trees whispered in scratchy tones as the pages of a newspaper fluttered by, coming to rest against a discarded bicycle and the rotting corpse of a dog a few feet away.

Jesus, this park really sucked.

"Can I look?" came the girl's voice again, and suddenly she was right next to him, leaning over to pull the iPod out of his pocket. As she moved, her hair fell away from her shoulder, exposing the smooth untanned skin of her neck.

R watched as her skin pulsed with a steady beat, blood pumping through the jugular vein just underneath the surface. Supplying life to the meat below.

It made him uncomfortable, and he tried to push her away, but somehow his arm misinterpreted his command, and wrapped tightly about her instead, holding her in an embrace that drew him even closer to that beating drum of vivid life.

Desperately embarrassed, he tried to apologize for his behavior, but uttered a strangely keenly moan instead.

Unbelievable. What the hell was he doing? He had to let go of this girl now, or somebody was going to wander by and call the cops on him for being a perv. Jesus.

"It's okay you know," the girl said softly.

...It's okay? What was okay? What was she talking about?

"It's okay that you're biting me."

Something warm ran down his jaw, and he swallowed what he'd been chewing. Funny, but he didn't remember bringing anything to eat? It was really tasty, whatever it was.

What was the girl saying again? Something was okay? He couldn't hear her properly, and leaned over to listen. There was a sudden gush of something hot against his face, his neck, and down his arm, and he jerked back, surprised.

The girl jerked too, and he wondered if she'd felt it - it was like someone had run by and splashed a coffee in his face.

Bizarre.

Something was stuck between his teeth. Flicking his tongue around it, he freed something long and stringy, and quickly swallowed whatever it had been.

God, he felt good. He leaned over the girl again, meaning to ask her what she'd said before, but really he just wanted to thank her for hanging out. It was obvious the company was doing him good. He felt energized, like his whole body was buzzing.

And he was eating something really tasty. Had he brought a sandwich with him on this trip? He couldn't quite remember. Whatever it was, it was tender, juicy, and... warm?

_Oh god._

_Oh fuck._

_Not again. Please no._

Slowly, he pulled back from her, and finally focused on what he had done. The girl's head hung at a strange angle, no longer supported by the mass of tissue he had just consumed. Her neck lay exposed and open, raw quivering muscle gnawed to the bone, and blood dribbled from the veins and arteries he had severed with jagged bites moments before.

Blood spattered the white skin of her face, her pink jacket, her bright t-shirt, and matted her auburn hair. Her eyes were open, drawn in pain and confusion, and dull with death. One hand still clutched the brown bear, her knuckles locked and white.

"N-no..." he moaned, his dead throat strangling the words into barely audible gasps. "Noooooo..."

His world dropped away in horror, the park, the grey sky, the dry breeze, everything faded to the dead girl's face. The travesty of his hunger.

The dead girl's eyes fixed on him suddenly, then slowly shriveled away, leaving nothing but empty black sockets. As her cheeks hollowed out, her skin thinned, and stretched like a dessicated mask over her skull. Lips drawing back from black jagged teeth, she spoke, and the voice was not the same as he had heard before. It was the rasp of stone against gravel, burnt fingers against singed earth. It was death.

"It's... okay... that you  _killed_  me..." the voice growled, and the skeletal face jerked up and thrust towards him, maw open wide as the voice rose in pitch to a deafening screech, "just FIND ME!"


	2. The Thin Man

Screaming, R launched himself up from his bed, arm thrust out to push the girl away, his heart hammering a panicked rhythm.

But she wasn't there. Nothing was there. Just his ghostly hand, illuminated in the pale light from an outside streetlamp, against the bare wall of his room.

_Holy FUCK._

As the nightmare slowly fell away from him, drawing the adrenalin from his body and leaving him drained, he drew his legs in and sat there, forehead pressed against his knees.

_Jesus Christ._

"Again?" came a soft, groggy voice at his side, and a warm hand pressed gently against his bare back.

_Julie._

He nodded. "Yeah. Sorry I woke you."

"It's okay. But R... that's like, the third night now?"

Nodding again, he turned to look down at her. She'd propped herself up on one elbow and was blinking up at him as she rubbed her eyes. Her blonde hair fell back from her throat and shoulder as she did so, exposing naked skin.

_Shit._

Normally he'd be all over that skin, her throat was a total turn on for him. But not tonight. Not after that. It was too much.

He quickly turned and twisted off the bed.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice rising in worry.

Nodding again, he shrugged into his clothes, pulled on a jacket and headed to the door.

Managing a small smile, he turned back to her. "I just need some air, I'll be back soon. Go back to sleep."

Julie frowned, but nodded. "Okay." A small sigh left her. "R... are you going to tell me what it's about?"

"I can't... not right now," he answered honestly, and left the room, pulling the door closed behind him without waiting for a reply.

The hallway was empty, but that wasn't a surprise. He hadn't look at the clock before he left, but he figured it was probably around two in the morning. That'd been the case the past two nights he'd had the nightmare, so why would it be any different tonight?

Fucking dream.

God, if only it was just a dream. Completely fabricated, completely made up. Just his mind doing stupid shit with the weirdness of the day.

Then he could tell Julie.

But he couldn't.

Because it was real.

As his stomach twisted in on itself with his thoughts, he picked up his pace, skipping quickly down the stairs, and out the double doors of the apartment complex into the chilly night.

The air embraced him like a ghost as he stepped onto the sidewalk, the cold seeping quickly through his jeans, and the jacket he'd thrown on, a little too thin for this time of the year. It didn't matter. It felt good to feel the sharp bite of winter. It'd been the first one he'd felt in eight years after all.

R turned to his left and started walking, down a dark street framed by looming, empty skyscrapers. No destination in mind, just wanting to move, get away from the memories. It didn't work.

It'd been going on winter all those years ago when he'd wandered as a lost corpse and found that bench in the park, had sat there listening to the music that had enveloped him for days, since he'd left the airport. Since he'd lost his family. He hadn't known that then. Hadn't understood what he was doing. Where he was.  _Why_  he was. He'd been sitting on that bench for an entire day, surrounded by dead things, knowing he desperately needed  _something_ , but too distracted by music to care. Something in him had been whispering, commanding him to act, to search, to find. But the music drove it away and it had grown quiet, dormant.

Had he truly been aware of himself, he would have also found he was slowing down, stiffening, his thoughts turning glacial in their movements. Quieting. The whole day spent sitting might have felt like a few minutes, had it not been for the building and fading of each song. He hadn't known it then, but he was about to lose his lifeline.

The music was coming to an end.

And that's when she showed up.

_Nonono, I don't want to think about that. Quit it._

R winced and slowed to a stop, resting back against the broad window of an old storefront, and drove the heels of his palms into his brow, wanting to stop thinking, stop seeing what had happened that day.

Why was this haunting him so much? That's what it felt like, a haunting, like his guilt was ganging up on him. She'd never said anything about biting her, he never saw her turn. That part was all dream. She'd just fallen from him. Slipped from his arms to the dry, brown grass...

_Stop stop stop._

"Hey," said someone to his right. A male voice, high pitched and reedy.

R looked up, startled. A thin man dressed in dark clothes and a hoodie stood nearby, the hood obscuring most of his features, save for his mouth, framed by stubble, pulled thin in a stiff approximation of a smile. He was holding something behind him.

"You one of those dead guys?" the man said, and some strange element entered his voice. Something excited.

R's skin prickled as warning bells started to sound in his mind. "No," he said, which was very true of course, but he'd known what the man had meant. There was no way he'd tell anybody what he had been, at one in the morning on a dark city street.

"No?" the man said, and snorted. "You sure? Cause I saw you come out of that building."

This guy had been stalking him? What the hell? Why had he...

_Oh shit._

R's heart thudded sharply. The attacks on the once-dead... all happened late at night, in dark, minimally patrolled areas of the city. He quickly scanned the street. There was no-one else here. There were no lights on in this section of town, and he didn't see any open windows, or any signs of life. They were alone.

_Oh SHIT._

"That's what I thought," the man growled, and R had a second to register that the man was swinging something his way, before his body, driven by some deeper instinct, dove to the side, and the storefront window behind him shattered, smashed by the metal baseball bat the man had swung.

The sound was deafening, and R gave an involuntary yelp as he fell to one hand and knee, covering his head as the glass rained down around him.

"I know what you are!" the man screamed, coming at him again.

 _Jesus!_  R scrambled away, trying to get to his feet, but wasn't quick enough to avoid the swing, and the metal bat slammed against his lower thigh, dangerously close to his knee. Pain tore through him at the impact, and he cried out, dropping back to the pavement as he desperately clutched his leg.

Not sure where the guy was, he quickly rolled onto his back, and thrust his arms up as he saw the man stepping towards him, bat swinging in his hand.

"I know what you're all doing. I know what's going on. You think you've got us fooled. You don't!" The man laughed, the oddly musical sound jarring with his obvious rage.

"No, you don't... understand," R pleaded, his voice edgy with pain, "We're not... dead anymore!"

"That's a LIE!" screamed the man, thrusting the baseball bat like a finger at R as he spat out the words, "You're still dead! You're all just waiting for the right moment to attack!"

 _Jesus, he's crazy!_  Panic flooded him as he realized there was no way he was going to reason with the man. He had to get out of here NOW, or the guy was going to beat him to a fucking pulp!

R twisted away frantically, and got his leg under him, ready to push off and run if he could, but his back suddenly exploded in agony, something snapping inside as the man brought the bat down hard against the side of his chest. A wild scream tore from him and he collapsed to the ground again, his mind overwhelmed by the pain, unable to draw a breath.

"That's right, you just lie there asshole! I'm going to make sure you never hurt anyone again! I'm taking my city back from you fuckers!"

The man's words cut into R as deep as a knife, and he felt something stir through the pain, something hot and vivid, keener than the agony against his lungs.

Rage. It overwhelmed him, smothering his pain to a distant dull ache, and as the bat came down towards his head, he rolled over and grabbed it, stopping it dead.

Some sound was coming from him, something guttural, without words, as he pulled himself up with the bat, then wrenched it from the man and threw it far from them both.

The thin man's jaw was falling open, his eyes widening in fear as R turned, and he went for something tucked into the back of his jeans. R was on him immediately, ignoring the pain of his body, as he grasped the man around the throat, ripping his hand away from whatever he'd been going for, and thrust him backwards, slamming him against the store's brick wall.

The man was screaming now, fighting him, and R's mind took a backseat to old instincts, eight years of instincts learned by a body used to subduing the living. Pulling the man forward, he slammed him against the wall again, and the fight fell from his prey in an instant.

R dived forward, aiming for the soft flesh of the man's throat.

And froze.

His blue eyes widened in shock.

_What... the... fuck?_

R jerked away from the man, wrenching his hands back as if he'd been burned, and stumbled away as the pain roared up through him again, mixed with a sickening horror.

_I was... I... oh god._

"I'm sorry," he whispered, as he fell back, his leg suddenly giving way as his side burned in a bright agony. Stunned by what he had almost done, he watched as the man slowly rose, coughing and clutching the back of his head. "I'm... sorry... I..."

"I knew it," the man rasped, then coughed again, rubbing his throat as he stood, and walked towards R, "I  _knew_ it!"

R shook his head frantically, "No, no, I wasn't..."

The man's expression stopped him cold. The man was smiling at him, a giant grin spread across his face, his eyes fervent with a manic joy.

"It's okay. It's okay! I knew it! I knew you were all pretending. I knew you were all still dead inside!" the man laughed his musical laugh again, and R just flinched away, reeling from the insanity of what had just happened. For fuck's sake, he'd been about to rip the guy's throat out!

"I had to kill her, you understand, I had no  _choice!_  You weren't really changing, I knew it! She had to die!"

The man's babbling finally reached him, through the jagged pain of every breath, and R's heart turned cold. She had to die? What the fuck was he talking about? "W-who?"

The thin man reached back into his jeans and pulled out a handgun. "Mom..." he whispered, and his voice broke just slightly as he spoke, his face falling for a moment before the strange grin returned. "But it's okay now. I  _know_. She wouldn't have changed back, because it wasn't real... it was all a lie..."

Oh shit. R watched the handgun as the man approached, and tried to twist away again, but jerked back with a hiss as his side flared in livid agony.

"Drop it!" screamed a voice to their left, and they both turned, to see a man in soldier's fatigues rapidly approaching, rifle raised.

Taking a chance with the distraction, R lashed out, grunting against the pain, and knocked the gun from the man's hand. The piece went flying, finally clattering to a rest against the far store wall.

All the fight left the thin man in an instant. He raised his hands and fell to the pavement, sitting down next to R as the soldier rushed up to them.

The man's eyes never left R as the soldier pushed the man roughly to the ground and yanked his arms back to bind them. "Thank you," the man grunted at R, his eyes jubilant, "I knew it. I did the right thing. She had to die. Mom had to..." The man's face slowly collapsed as he broke down, his breath kicking up grey dirt and dust as he sobbed against the sidewalk.

"You okay sir?" the soldier asked him directly as he secured the man and went for his comm. Dressed in dark body armor and a cap, his eyes glinted sharply as he looked R over.

R looked up at him, but didn't speak. Couldn't really find the words to answer that question. His eyes fell back to the man crying on the road, the man who'd just tried to kill him, then thanked him, for showing that he was still dead.

The soldier clicked the button on his comm, "Got the guy. Twelve and Washington. Need pickup, bring a stretcher, one injured, possibly in shock."

R shook his head, and struggled to get up on his feet. No stretcher, no hospital. He didn't want anything to do with that. Hissing sharply with the pain, he managed to stand, and hung there for a moment, trying to find a way to breathe that would hurt the least. Nothing worked.

The soldier tried to support him, but R jerked away, gasping as the motion brought fresh pain.

"Sir, you're injured, you need to stay still. We'll get you to the hospital as soon as we can."

R had to stop himself from snapping at the man, and tried to take a deep breath. Bad idea. The air left him in a painful hiss, and he closed his eyes, trying to calm the jagged agony in his side.

The guy was only trying to help, he knew that, but he'd never been comfortable around any soldier or armed guard, or really anyone with a gun. Not since that night at the airport when the soldier had almost ended his life, not for the eight years since where a bullet to the head was the only threat to his un-life, and not since being shot two months ago by Julie's dad.

He hated soldiers, he hated guns, and he sure as hell didn't want to go to the hospital again.

R opened his eyes and glared at the soldier, "I live in apartment 23 in the old Kramer building. Thanks for saving my life, but I'm going home."

The soldier shook his head, giving him a cool stare, "Sir, I have to insist you stay."

R pulled away before the man could lay another hand on him, and started to walk back the way he'd come. He stood up as straight as he could until he was sure he was out of the man's line of sight, then crumpled, clutching his side and wincing with each breath as he limped down the sidewalk. Bright lights flashed around him and his shadow danced on the broad stone wall by his side as a police van raced in the opposite direction.

This was probably really stupid, but he just didn't want to be near a bunch of people. Not after what he'd done. Not after almost ripping that man's throat out. Why the fuck had he done that? What the hell happened? He wasn't dead anymore, no matter what that asshole had said! He wasn't dead!

"I'm not dead," he muttered out loud, his thoughts too big for his head, and stopped for a moment to catch his breath. Deep breaths just hurt too much, so he tried taking shorter shallow ones, and crouched against the wall for a while, unable to escape the pain.

The chill air started to get to him and he shivered, then immediately groaned as daggers stabbed him in the side again. Maybe he should have gone to the hospital. It was obvious something was broken inside. Probably a rib, or two. Didn't matter. He had to get up. Keep moving. He couldn't stay here for the rest of the night.

Slowly, carefully, he rose from the wall and walked with shuffling steps to his building. The lights glowing from the windows were a welcome beacon. Shouldering the glass doors open, wincing with the effort, he stepped inside and immediately felt thankful for the warmth that embraced him.

_Okay. Up the stairs._

Taking each step with frustrating slowness, he made his way to the second floor. By the time he reached the landing he was sweating, both from effort and pain, and stared down his hallway while he leaned against the wall. Disturbingly far away, his door stood on the far end, and almost seemed to be retreating from him as he watched.

_Last stretch. I got this._

With a soft rattle of the knob, his apartment door opened, and Julie backed out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

R smiled, despite his pain, feeling a bloom of warmth in his chest. Julie always did that to him. Separated by minutes or hours, it was always the same.

She turned around, her blonde hair swinging about her face, and jumped a little when she saw him.

"Hey! I was just coming to see if I could find you," she said, and smiled, her eyes lighting up, happy to see him.

"Cool," he said, and smiled goofily back at her. Seeing her made the pain just fall away, and he experienced a brief oasis of peace. There was no way he was leaving this wall now. He was just going to hang out here, til everything got better, and stare at the girl he loved.

_Perfect._

A frown flitted briefly across her face as she walked towards him. "Are you okay? You look really pale."

_Dammit._

It was good while it lasted. Now would come the worrying and freaking out. R sighed, a sound that ended in a pained wheeze as his chest tightened reflexively, and his side flared with a vengeance. Reacting against it, he only made it worse, and curled in on himself as the agony took hold.

"R!" Julie cried, and ran to him, cradling his face as she searched his eyes. "R, what's wrong?!" Her eyes danced over him, scanning for whatever was causing him hurt.

R tried to put his arm around her, but cried out and drew back, his side screaming.

Julie voice was distraught, "My god, what?! What is it? What happened to you?!"

He couldn't stand her distress, and tried to reassure her, his breath coming in shallow puffs, "I'm.. I'm okay..." As soon as the words left his mouth he realized how stupid they were, and she didn't disappoint in letting him know.

"Jesus R, you are so not okay! We need to get you to the hospital, here let me help-"

R shook his head very slightly, "No. No hospital."

He sensed the change in her immediately.  _Uh oh._

Julie went into what he'd come to know as 'battle mode', something he'd become very familiar with over the past couple of months as their relationship had deepened. Her eyebrows dipped perilously, her stance went rigid as she set her hands on her hips, and her tone would now lower to danger levels. He knew exactly what was coming next.

His real name.

"Rowan," she started.

"Julie," he replied, trying to stare her down. He was going to win this one, he was sure of it.  _Just once, it'd be nice._  "I'm sure... it's just a broken rib."

Her eyebrows soared dramatically. "Oh, you're  _sure_ it's  _just_ a broken rib? What the  _hell_ R? How did- no, no more talking. We're going to the hospital now, you can explain when we get there."

Anger flared quickly, "Julie, I am not... going to the hospital. My dad had... a broken rib and they just sent... him home. Made him lie in bed for... a week." Scowling, he could see this wasn't making any difference to Julie. Her face was set in stone. He continued anyway, determined, "My bed's right over there, I can start my week right n-OW!" Jabbing his finger down the hall for emphasis, he cried out as his side took offense.

_Crap. So close._

"Hospital," Julie stated in an unnervingly even tone, "now."

R stared at her for a moment more, then caved and started the long walk back down the stairs.


	3. The Broken Soul

"A week's bedrest," Stephen said, scribbling in a file he'd carried with him to the small examination room he'd brought them to in the hospital. Walking away from the vinyl covered bed R was sitting on, legs dangling over the side, the doctor slapped the folder down on the counter and started rummaging through one of the drawers.

R turned to stare pointedly at Julie.

Julie rolled her eyes and turned to stare at Stephen. "That's  _it?_ " she asked. "Don't you need to bandage it or something?"

"Nope," Stephen answered, not looking up. "Better to give him room to breathe. And you will need to do some deep breathing, Rowan, no matter how much it hurts."

R couldn't imagine doing anything but the little puffing breaths he'd been managing so far. Even they hurt, but it was the best he could do. Getting here had been torture. Climbing into the car took what felt like an hour, every bump on the road (and there were many) felt liked being knifed, and trying to lay down for an x-ray almost made him cry.

Getting up again had finally done the job. But Stephen had given him some privacy by pulling Julie out to the hall, ostensibly to talk to her about something, so he'd been able to keep a little of his dignity.

Julie had teared up when she saw his side. She'd wanted to know how it happened, how the hell he'd done this to himself. And it'd been really hard to explain. When he finally tried, she'd got so angry he'd had to stop. The last thing he wanted right now was anger. He'd had too much of it tonight.

He didn't tell her about almost biting the guy either, it just wasn't somewhere he was willing to go.

Stephen muttered something under his breath, and stopped rummaging. He glanced up at R, "Stay here, I'll be right back." Then he headed out the door, shutting it behind him.

Julie sighed, and looked up at him, her eyes soft. "I'm sorry."

R smirked. "That's okay... I would have dragged you here too."

She snorted, "I didn't  _drag_ you here, geez."

"It felt like dragging."

"That was driving, it's easy to confuse the two."

R gave a little laugh, which turned into a yelp as he clutched his side. "Oh god... no laughing. Laughing is bad," he gasped, and tried to get a handle on the pain.

"Sorry!" Julie cried, and reached for him, but stopped short of touching him, not wanting to make things any worse. Her hand fell to his thigh instead and she squeezed it reassuringly.

R yelled at the top of his lungs and jerked back, sending red hot pokers stabbing through his side. Squeezing his eyes shut, he rode the sudden wave of agony.

Julie's voice was frantic, "Jesus, R! What I'd do?!"

"S-sorry," he stammered, "Should... have told you... about that..."

"About what?!"

"Guy hit... my leg first," he managed, and felt a tear creep from the corner of his eye. Great, so now he was crying again.  _Manly._  When he opened his eyes, Julie was watching him, her face heavy with concern.

Stephen walked back in at that moment and paused, looking between them both, then frowned at R's hunched over posture.

"What happened?" the doctor asked.

"Something's wrong with his leg, something he should have maybe mentioned before," Julie answered, going into battle mode again.

"I don't think it's... broken, I think it's just a bruise," R offered defensively. He would have shrugged, but there was no way he was moving anything ever again, it just hurt too much.

Stephen dropped what he'd been holding on the counter and walked over to him.

"Which leg?"

R shifted very, very slightly and pointed to the place on his thigh where the bat had hit him.

Stephen looked at his thigh and knee for a moment, and R felt a flicker of guilt as he saw the ugly scar on the doctor's forehead. A scar he'd given the man when he'd bashed his head against the corner of some ICU equipment almost two months ago. It made him feel like shit every time he saw it.

Stephen's brown eyes caught Rowan's as he looked up, and the doctor's mouth curled in a smirk under his grey flecked beard, "Well, since my x-ray vision isn't working well today, think you could take your jeans off so I can have a look?"

R shook his head firmly. "No."

"No?" Stephen cocked an eyebrow.

"No," R answered again. He'd already decided he was never moving again. Ever. The fact that Stephen hadn't picked up on that was his problem.

Julie sighed, "Rowan... come on, I'll help."

R shook his head.

"Right." Stephen swung back to the counter and pulled a large pair of metal scissors from a jar of implements, then turned back to R. "Hope you're not a fan of those pants."

"...Fine," R growled, and started shimmying off the bench, "just.. ow... give me a... moment."

Julie swore at the wreck of his thigh when he finally managed, with her help, to pull his jeans down, and when he took a painful peek himself he understood why. It looked horrible - the entire area was a fascinating palette of yellows, purples and reds, and badly swollen.

_Jesus._

Stephen took a closer look, gently pressing around the area and his knee, and looked up at R's face every once in a while to judge his pain level.

"Everything hurts," R mumbled, just to get that out of the way.

The doctor stood, and went to write in the file again. "You seem to be walking on it okay, and the knee feels fine, so I don't think we're dealing with a break or a fracture. It's just really badly bruised. Stay off your feet like I asked, keep your leg elevated, use ice, if you have it. For the ribs, try a good deep breath every hour. Yes," he caught the grimace on R's face, "every hour. I have some painkillers for you, that'll help."

After R got his jeans back on with Julie's help, Stephen held out a tiny plastic cup. Inside was a yellow pill, oval in shape. "Take this now, and these," he handed Julie a small paper bag, "when you get home, one every four hours. Okay?"

R nodded, and took the little cup, staring down at it for a moment. "What is it?"

"Endocet, sadly the strongest stuff we have to spare. Just stick to the schedule I gave you and you'll be fine. Water?"

R threw a look at Julie as he took the water Stephen offered, and she shrugged back at him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd actually had to take a pill.

_At least eight years ago._

That was the nice thing about being dead. The only nice thing really. Pain wasn't an issue. He'd been shot, stabbed, hit by a car, and none of it had meant anything to him. It was just impact. Displacement.

Downing the pill, he grimaced at the taste. "Bleah."

Julie turned to the doctor with a smile. "Thanks again Stephen. How're things going here?"

Stephen smiled back warmly. He seemed to have a real soft spot for Julie. R couldn't say the same applied in his case, and the guilt over the scar probably wasn't helping.

"You're welcome," he said, then sighed, leaning back against the counter. "Very busy actually. The dead are coming through non-stop, some in really bad shape. Dan supervises the day shift, I got stuck with night duty. Pulled the short straw on that one, but I don't have a family, so it makes sense."

He smirked then, and rubbed a hand over his beard. "Wait, that was too much information again wasn't it. Sorry, I'm tired."

Julie just laughed and gave him a hug. "It's okay, I asked. We'll get out of your hair. Hope the night gets quieter for you."

"Not too quiet," Stephen said with a chuckle, "I'm liable to fall asleep!"

Moving to the door, he opened it for them and waited for R to shuffle through. R winced as he moved forward, and stopped next to Stephen, glancing up at the scar over his eyes.

"I'm really sorry about..." he said, and let it hang, feeling awkward.

"You say that every time I see you," Stephen replied, shaking his head. "It's okay. It's a conversation starter. Makes me look tough." Smirking, he gave R a gentle pat on the shoulder. "Don't forget the deep breaths, and you both have a good night."

With a small wave, he turned and walked back down the hall.

Julie waved back as they moved towards the lobby. "He's a good guy."

R nodded. "Yeah. Pity I tried to brain him."

Julie laughed. "He was trying to kill you at the time, so... fair's fair." She turned serious, "You have to let that go, R. He's okay."

Nodding again, he looked down, "I know... it's just hard."

She smiled and laced her hand in his, taking care not to jostle him. "I know."

R wished he could put his arm around her, hold her close. It just wasn't possible though, everything hurt too much. Slowly, they continued towards the lobby and he had to grind his teeth to handle the pain from the constant movement. Would the painkillers kick in soon? Be nice if they could hurry up and do that.

The doors at the end of the hall suddenly burst open, and R's heart clenched. Coming towards them was the very same asshole who'd attacked him an hour ago, pushed along by the guard who'd saved his life. R didn't know what to do. He didn't want to be anywhere near the crazy freak who'd thought he was still dead, didn't want to be interrogated by the soldier. And he was angry. A small part of him wanted to finish what he'd started. And that scared him.

"Hey!" the thin man yelled, recognizing R. "Hey! It's the dead guy!"

R just kept walking, trying to hold himself up as much as possible, not let the creep know how much he'd been hurt.

"Shutup," growled the soldier, shoving the man along.

"No! He's a corpse! He tried to bite me! Let me loose so I can take care of him!" The man struggled against the plastic ties at his wrist.

Julie turned to R with dawning understanding in her eyes. "This is the guy?" she whispered. He nodded, and something dangerous crossed her face.

"Hey lady! Don't talk to him!" the thin man yelled as he drew level with them, leaning towards her. "He's a corpse! He's just pretending to be alive! They all are!"

R felt his fingernails digging into his palms. How dare this asshole talk to Julie? How dare the guy call him dead in front of her? The pain started to dissolve as the rage reared up again, vivid and inescapable.

With no warning at all, Julie punched the man square in the jaw.

As the man hit the wall and sank bonelessly to the ground, R's mouth fell open. The rage vanished in an instant, as he stared Julie, stunned by what she'd just done.

The soldier sighed. "Well, that's great Julie. Now I've gotta carry the fucker."

Julie was breathing hard, her fists clenching and unclenching at her sides. "Sorry Don, I just... I really want to kick him, can I kick him?"

"Rather you didn't. I'm the one who has the fill out the paperwork." Don looked over at R, "Which reminds me, I need to talk to you, get a statement."

R felt an echo of the anger return and his brows furrowed deeply. But Julie stepped in. "Don, he's in pretty bad shape, Stephen wants him to rest. Can we do it tomorrow?"

Don smirked, and nodded. "Yeah, okay. As long as he stays at the address he gave me, we'll come by and get him when we need him."

 _Get me when they need me?_  R glowered at the man, but Julie rested her hand on his chest and nodded back at Don. "That's great, thanks." Turning back to R, she led the way with her eyes. "Lets get you away from this freak."

R nodded, then looked down at the man, crumpled on the floor. As they walked away, the image of the man crying on the sidewalk flickered in his mind, and he felt a twinge of pity. "He killed his mom."

Julie frowned, looking over at him as she pushed open the lobby door. "What?"

"It's what he told me," he said with a sigh, feeling suddenly very tired. "He killed his mom, because she was infected. I think it must have happened just before everything started to change."

Understanding flickered across her face. "Oh," she whispered. "Oh geez."

"Yeah." R gave up trying to stand tall, and stooped, holding his arm against his side. It helped a little, but ironically reminded him of how he used to walk as a corpse. As they pushed out of the hospital and into the triage area, the cold air rushed around them, turning their breath to fog. The chill made him shiver, and he winced against the pain. It wasn't nearly as bad as it had been before though, so maybe the painkillers were finally kicking in?

They made it to the car, and R steeled himself for more hurt as he slowly slid into the passenger seat. It amazed him that they still had this car, the red BMW convertible he'd sat in for years at the airport, never able to drive. It had just become their car. There were more vehicles on the road these days, though not as much in the city. People were just starting to spread out, to reclaim houses they used to own, or move into abandoned places on the outskirts of town. Gas had been rationed, but it didn't stop people siphoning whatever they could find.

As they drove, R started to feel very comfortable, and the pain eased into a dull ache. Memories of his first drive in the car came back to him, and he grinned, remembering how he'd tried to put his hand on Julie's leg, and how she'd very quickly set him straight. Still grinning, he reached out and rested his palm against her jeans, giving a little squeeze.

Julie glanced over at him and smirked. "Hey."

"Hey," he said back, squeezing her thigh again.

"You're feeling pretty good now huh?" She grinned at him. "Guess that pill is doing the job?"

"Hmm-mmm," he hummed, and settled deeper into the seat.

Julie laughed, "Don't go to sleep on me just yet, I have to get you up the stairs!"

R smiled and shook his head, "I won't. Just feels real good not to hurt." His eyelids started to feel heavy, so he let them fall.

"R..."

"Rowan." Julie's voice, from somewhere. "Hey, wake up."

His eyes blinked open. Julie was outside of the car, resting her arms against his door, grinning at him. "Heeey, there you are. Let's get upstairs, then you can fall asleep for real."

Rubbing his eyes, he struggled to sit upright in the seat and open the door. His side was throbbing, but not screaming, which was good, but he was feeling a little dopey and disoriented. "Sorry, this stuff is pretty strong."

With her help, they made it up to his room, and got him out of his clothes. After a brief bathroom break where he finally got to see the disaster that was his side properly, he returned to his room and slid under the cool sheets of his bed. A heavy drowsiness swamped him, and he struggled to stay awake, to talk to Julie.

"You staying here tonight?" he asked hopefully, his words slurring.

"Of course. I just want to call dad, let him know..."

Julie's voice continued, but her words fell away from R as he sank into a deep, dark sleep.

* * *

_This sequel came about because I had a couple of questions after my last fanfic. Mainly, who was responsible for attacking the once-dead, and what were some of those 'not nice stories' R mentioned on the plane? I thew those questions out there, and this fic came back._

_I hadn't expected the 'Thin Man' to show up so soon, to tell the truth ;) He pops up again later._


	4. The Music Ending

The world was brown and grey. The sky hung low over the muddy colored trees, a smudged charcoal drawing of shifting clouds. The air stirred around the solitary figure sitting motionless on the grey bench on the edge of the park. His red hoodie and dark blue jeans were the only real color here, outside of the exposed viscera of a dog left to rot on a bald patch of dirt nearby. The dogs mouth was stretched wide, yellowed teeth starkly bright in the dull light, withered lips pulled back in an eternal snarl.

The dog smelled of once-life, and the meat tugged at the figure's senses like a whisper across an empty room. There was a smell of fire, oil and burnt flesh too, brought to him by a languid breeze from the black husk of a car and its driver resting against an old oak, scarred by the meeting.

Something in him responded to these smells, wanted him to wander and find more, stronger smells, vibrant with life. But something else surrounded him, kept drawing him off of the task. Music. Weaving rhythms fluttering like heartbeats and voices laden with life circled him, saturated him, kept him listening and wandering through their offered landscapes.

The wandering had led him here, to sit at the edge of a dying park, to slowly become a part of the scenery, another dead thing scattered amongst trees casting off shriveled leaves.

He watched the leaves fall around him, watch them spin and twist on their way to the dry grass, their movements in time with the music surrounding him.

 _Dancing._  The word rose like a bubble in the still lake of his mind, and he held it there at the surface, marveling at its meaning.

 _The leaves are dancing._  Something stirred in him them, a memory of his body in motion. He followed it, and felt his body shift slightly, hesitantly. He'd been sitting motionless for a long time, the sensation was like the thawing of something buried beneath old blue ice. Slowly, as the music filled him, he moved, swaying like the creaking branches of the scarred oak before him.

"Hello?"

At first, he'd thought it was a part of the song. It didn't match the melody though and he thought that strange. His grey eyes opened.

Someone was walking around the bench. His senses sparked as he drew in their smell. Curious, he turned to look.

"Oh shit!"

He caught a glimpse of something colorful as it yelled and darted away. The smell withdrew.

A new song grew around him, and his gaze was drawn back to the falling leaves. Once more the melody stirred his body into motion as the beat swelled through him, threaded with voices mourning the loss of love.

Something tugged at him again, a scent, dizzying and vibrant, and deep within him, he felt something wake.

He opened his eyes again.

A young girl was staring at him a few feet away. She'd jumped back when he'd first opened his eyes, but was now standing still, watching him with a scrunched up face. Her scent was fascinating.

"What are you  _doing?_ " she asked.

Something stretched within him, and nudged him to draw her scent in deep. It wanted it. He didn't understand why, and a new song replaced the old, drawing him back to the dancing leaves. His eyes fell closed.

"This is so weird!" the girl's voice spoke again. He weaved it through the music around him, made it dance with the leaves. "You're listening to music aren't you!"

The girl kept talking then, her voice rising and falling with an energy he could feel in the air. An energy that invaded his senses and set them buzzing. As the music faded his eyes opened once more and his gaze fell to his lap, his grey hands laying on either side, curled open to the sky.

"Good music?" the girl asked, and her words weren't dancing with the music anymore. His gaze rose from his lap and he turned to look at her, dazzled for a moment by the chaos of color surrounding her, by the life in her smile. She was sitting at the far end of the bench. Her nearness made something in him shudder, something that held him close as the music tried to pull him away again.

_Stop. Not again._

Leaning towards him, she pointed. "What are you listening to?"

He gazed down at where she had pointed, but saw only himself, and looked back at her. Questions. The girl was asking questions. She wanted answers. He needed answers. Answers were sounds that made sense. He tried some sounds, but they didn't make sense.

_I'm not doing this again!_

The song finally reached through to him, and he looked out over the park, the vivid colors of the girl fading from his eyes to greys, browns and the dark exposed red of a snarling dog.

"Can I look?"

Suddenly her smell surrounded him so intensely he felt the air grow solid with it, and when he looked she was next to him, leaning near to him, and drawing something from his hoodie pocket. He watched, curious, still caught in the spell of song while something clawed him inside, screaming.

 _No! Fucking stop!_  The world stuttered and froze around them both for a moment, then continued on.

The screen flared up on the white device she'd drawn from his pocket, and she laughed. "Bloodstream? Ha! Zombie music!"

The music stopped abruptly as the screen went blank.

"Oops." The girl shifted slightly, and her hair fell from her neck. "I think the battery just died..."

_Nonononono..._

The loss of the music, deep in the middle of the song, left him profoundly lost. The little bit of life he'd been enveloped with fell away from him, leaving him reeling with a desperate emptiness.

His gaze fell to her neck, to the pulse beneath the skin. Something inside told him it was a new kind of music. A new rhythm to absorb. A better type of life.

"Maybe it just needs to be warmed up a little?"

_I... I'm... hungry._

He drank in the energy of the girl's scent and knew it was what he needed.

**TAKE.**

His grey hands twitched, and rose, and his arms encircled the girl.

She immediately tried to jerk away, but his arms drew in like a vise, trapping her close.

"Hey!" she cried, and kicked, frantically trying to free herself. "Let me go!"

Leaning in, he tore out the life she held inside as she screamed and bucked beneath him.

_I'M SORRY! I didn't WANT THIS! I'm sorry!_

The world stuttered again, and suddenly, R was fully aware, fully himself. He felt the hard bench beneath him, felt his arms wrapped tightly about the still girl, and tasted blood in his mouth...

_Oh no._

He drew back quickly, horrified, and tried to push the girl away. Her body fell back against the bench, blood pouring from the wound in her neck.

"Noo..." he moaned. It happened again. He'd killed her again. Something... was in his mouth. Something warm, solid, that made his mind buzz. He groaned and spat it out, overwhelmed with disgust.

When he turned back the girl was sitting upright, staring at him. Her brown eyes looked huge against her pale, blood flecked skin.

"You're sorry?" she said, as her skin started to turn grey.

Stunned, he stared back at her as she changed, then realized his dead body was changing too. Something he'd felt before, a return of life. Spreading as his heart pumped new blood through his body. The chill fall air crawled over his newly flushed skin and he shivered.

_I'm dreaming... I'm just dreaming. Maybe I can talk to her, make these dreams stop..._

Those big eyes stared at him, slowly turning an alien silver, as he tried to talk to her, desperate for understanding, for forgiveness.

"I'm so sorry I killed you, I...I didn't mean to. I didn't know what I was doing."

Her voice was a hoarse whisper as her mouth drew back over dark teeth. "Little late for that, don't you think?"

"Why are you doing this? Why do you keep doing this to me?" he asked, his voice raising, pleading for something that made sense. This was his dream, his imagination, why was he doing this to himself?

With a guttural rasp, she moved towards him on the bench.

As she advanced, he jerked away, terrified, intending to run, but her arm snaked out and a grip like steel closed around his wrist.

"Let me go," he demanded, his heart starting a frantic rhythm in his chest.

_Wake up... wake up... wake up..._

The girl smirked, "You didn't let  _me_ go."

"I was a corpse!" he cried, "I couldn't help it - I'm sorry!" Frantically, he tried to pry her hand off, but she only drew him closer.

"Well I'm a corpse now... and I'm HUNGRY," she snarled, jaws opening wide as she attacked.

She moved so quickly, he had no time to twist away. Her jaws fastened on his throat, tearing through the flesh of his neck, and he screamed, kicking and punching at her, trying desperately to get her off, the agony making him wild and frantic. Grabbing his flailing arm, she slammed it repeatedly against the bench until it fell away from him, numb, then ripped her head back, tearing a mass of tissue from his throat.

Blood, dark and red, sprayed across her face, over the bench and down his hoodie. Jerking back in shock, he tried desperately to hold back the rush of his life blood, but the wound was too big. It poured over his hand, a viscous hot river, and he fell shuddering against the bench.

_Jesus! I'm dying! WAKE UP!_

"Not yet," she rasped, a small smile spreading across her face as her mouth worked on what she had torn from him. Swallowing thickly, her smile turned into a black grin, smudged red with gore, "You need to feel what you did to me."

Falling on him again, her jaws tore deeper through the muscles of his neck, and he moaned, trying and failing to fight her off again, his body growing sluggish from loss of blood. It spattered against the ground beneath him through the slats of the bench.

"Please..." he whispered, no longer able to move, to fight. Everything was starting to pull away, and it terrified him. The last time he'd died in a dream, he'd changed and almost killed people. He'd hurt Julie. He couldn't do that again. Whatever part of him was doing this to himself, he had to reach it, make this stop. "I'm s-sorry..."

"I know," she sighed, withdrawing from his throat. With sad eyes, she stared down at him, blood dripping from the soaked grey skin of her jaws. "I'm sorry too."

A little spark of hope flared in him as his vision started to fade. Had he reached her? With a painful wrench, his heart spasmed in his chest.

"But I'm not a figment of your imagination," she whispered, leaning in close as his breath hitched and stilled. "I'm real."

As the grey charcoal sky and her face, drying and stretching to the mummified husk of a skeleton, dissolved into a void of nothing, her gravel voice echoed in his dying mind.

"FIND ME."


	5. The Fear

R's eyes snapped open.

"Oh thank god... R, I've been trying to wake you up for an hour!"

_Julie._

_I'm alive. Oh god... my side..._

Hissing, squeezing his eyes shut, he squirmed against the mattress, trying to find a way to shut off the sudden rush of pain, but it only made everything worse. An agonized wail left him before he could stop himself and he arched back against his pillow.

"Oh god R," Julie cried, and he felt something nudge his shoulder, "Here, take this!"

Gritting his teeth, he turned his head towards Julie's voice and opened his eyes. Her face slowly resolved from a blur, and she was kneeling by the bed, her eyes wide in concern. In her outstretched hands was one of the yellow pills and a glass with a straw.

"Here," she said, and brought the pill to his mouth, followed by the straw.

Raising his head, he took a deep gulp, grimacing again at the taste of the pill, then flopped back against the pillow.

"Thanks," he whispered, and squeezed his eyes shut again, trying hard to ride out what his body was screaming at him. "Sorry... really hurts."

"I know R... I wish I could take it away."

He felt her touch, warm against his head and hand, and he smiled. "You did yesterday."

"I did?"

"Yeah," he said, and turned his head to look at her again. "At the top of the stairs... sounds corny, but seeing you... made the pain go away."

That goofy smile visited him again, and he looked away, feeling silly.

She laughed, "You're right, that does sound corny." With a soft smile, she rested her chin on the bed. "But I love that."

He grinned back, and was happy to lie there for a while, just sharing that moment.

Until Julie sighed. "R..."

 _Uh oh._  "Yeah?"

"You were thrashing around in your sleep. Were you having that nightmare again?"

 _Shit._ He didn't want to talk about that. Didn't want to think about it. He took a deep breath instead, going for distraction and remembering what Stephen had said at the hospital. He immediately regretted it, as the jagged edges of his ribs grated together.

"Owwww," he moaned as tears squeezed from his eyes.

"Rowan... please tell me. I just want to help."

"I don't want to talk about it!"

As soon as the words left him he wished he could bring them back. The combination of pain and fear over what the nightmare meant, what almost biting that man meant, was making him defensive, and he'd snapped at her without thinking.

Julie stared at him for a moment, her eyes dark with hurt, then got up and walked to the door.

R watched her, his heart tight in his chest, wanting to say sorry, but the words wouldn't leave his mouth.

"Where are you going?" he asked instead.

"To get us some food." Stepping out of the room without looking back, she closed the door behind her.

R swore and thumped his head back against the pillow, the only version of kicking himself he could manage right now, and groaned as his side flared in protest.

How was he supposed to tell her about his dream? It terrified him. Not just the dream itself, and the fact that a girl he'd killed ages ago was tormenting him in his own head, but explaining it to the woman he loved, and what it would do to what they had.

Julie knew he'd killed people. She knew it very intimately. He'd murdered her old boyfriend after all. It was understood between them, and something she'd forgiven him for not long after she'd found out, which still stunned him in a way. Forgiveness was not something he'd ever given himself.

He'd tried to come to terms with it, sure. He'd had to. But that was less about forgiveness, and more about avoidance. He'd tried hard to separate himself from what he'd been before, and what he'd done. Occasionally, despite his best efforts, he'd feel something or see something that reminded him of a memory... one he would suddenly and horribly realize wasn't actually his own. A memory literally ripped from someone else's head. The separation he'd built up would come crashing down, and he'd realize he was standing on a precipice, over a dark well of self-hate, horror and guilt he couldn't ever hope to see the bottom of. Pretending everything was okay, when it really wasn't.

Those were bad times.

Apparently, a zombie who'd been a shrink before she'd turned had actually started some kind of support group for the once-dead, to help with just this sort of thing. R found this hilarious. So did M. When they'd both stumbled across the poster on one of his rare visits to the common kitchen area downstairs, they'd done a double take and started laughing. M had immediately launched into a story that made about ten references to the sorry state of his once-dead dick, and R had lost it. Another newly-living, an old lady on his floor named Mandy who'd managed to sneak at least three cats into her tiny apartment, had hovered nearby as they'd had their fun, then quietly walked up to jot down the details when they'd moved on. R had watched her from the fridge, wondering what kind of things could possibly haunt a kind soul like that.

It didn't take much to imagine, and he'd stopped, forcing himself to focus on the strangely vegetarian contents of the refrigerator.

Snapping back to the present, R's thoughts wandered to Julie again. She deserved to know. He knew that. It just hurt, the idea of opening all of these horrors again to show her. Like exposing a wound that hadn't healed right. He didn't want anyone to see it.

The dream lingered, just under his skin.  _Find me._ What the hell was that all about? Find her? Where? She said she wasn't his imagination, that she was real. How the fuck was that possible? He had no idea. He only knew he couldn't handle these nightmares anymore.

He'd died a few times now, had felt the death of those he'd killed a few times too, though that was rare. None of them had felt so vividly final as the dream death he'd just experienced.

He couldn't take that again.

A yawn took him by surprise, and he realized that the pain in his side had dulled somewhat. The painkiller was apparently kicking in.

_Thank god._

Experimenting with shifting by increments, until he was confident the pain was manageable and wouldn't spike on him out of the blue, he slowly got himself upright on the edge of the bed. His thigh and side were a horrifying mass of mottled bruises, and he marveled at it. Who knew skin could turn so many different colors?

Suddenly visited by a ferocious need to pee, he stood up, grunting as the angry signals from his side made it through the dulling haze of the painkiller, and shuffled over to his pants.

The jeans stared up at him from the floor, obstinately refusing to rise up on their own and meet him half way, so he stood there for a while, mentally preparing himself for the world of hurt he'd feel bending over to pull them on.

At that moment, Julie entered, carrying a tray of food.

"R!" she cried, rushing to put the tray down on his chest of drawers, "What are you doing out of bed?!"

R's skin flushed. It was a little embarrassing to be caught in the middle of the room in his underwear with his pants around his ankles. "I needed to pee," he finally answered, a little defensively, "I mean, I'm good, but I don't think I can hit the hall toilet from here."

Julie smirked at him, "Funny."

_She's still pissed at me._

He sighed, "Julie, I'm sorry I snapped. Pain was getting to me."

"Uh-huh," she muttered, and helped him with his jeans.

R got them on, then reached out to take Julie's hand as she went to get the tray, ignoring the pulse of pain from his side. She swung back to him, but wouldn't meet his eye, looking at their meshed fingers instead.

"And," he continued with another sigh, "I'm scared."

Julie looked up at him, curious and concerned. "Why?"

R opened his mouth to try and explain, then noticed a strange mark on Julie's cheekbone.

_A bruise?_

Reaching up to her cheek, he lightly brushed it with his thumb. "Julie..." he whispered, "what happened to your cheek?"

Julie smirked, "A certain someone accidentally hit me while flailing around in bed this morning."

R's hands fell from her, and he stepped back, "Seriously? I hit you?"

"Well, not on purpose, but yeah." Shrugging, she stared intently up at him. "You say it scares you Rowan, but it's starting to scare me too. This morning was bad... reminded me of that time in the hospital, when you were fighting something... and you went terribly still..." Letting it hang between them, she shrugged again.

Then she slapped him on the arm, as he stood there, horrified. "Look, you've turned me into a shrugger! Thanks a lot!"

He knew she was trying to make light, but it didn't make him feel any better. Inside he was reeling with the fact that he'd hit Julie. Accident or not, he couldn't do that. He couldn't hurt her. It was inexcusable.

He felt like a complete shit.

"It was an accident R, don't feel too bad," Julie said softly.

R shook his head, "Doesn't matter. I... I had no idea it was that bad." He drew close to her again and kissed her gently over the bruise. "I'm really sorry."

She nodded and smiled softly. "I know." Then she sighed. "I so want to hug you right now, but I can't."

With a small smile he pressed up against her, pulling her arms around his waist, then enfolded her in his own and squeezed her gently. Her hands were gloriously warm against his skin, her touch radiating through him in comforting waves, and he closed his eyes, feeling relaxed and peaceful.

He felt no pain. Was that the painkiller? Or Julie?

There was a knock on the door, and it opened abruptly. R looked up to see his brother Brandon grinning at him from the doorway.

"Aww, can I join in? I wanna hug," Brandon said, and lumbered towards them, his arms opened wide.

"No... don't!" R yelped, and twisted away, trying to avoid the inevitable bear hug his brother would give. Something crunched inside, and he groaned, curling in on himself as the pain cut right through the dulling effect of the drug.

"Holy  _shit!_ " Brandon cried, "What the hell happened to your side?!"

Julie reached out to him, "Jesus, you okay?!"

R nodded slightly, letting out steady breaths to manage the pain.

"Guys?!" Brandon called out, "What the hell?!"

"Some asshole attacked him last night," Julie answered, still reaching for R, "Broke his ribs."

"WHAT?!" Brandon yelled.

R slowly straightened, keeping his breathing light and even. Then he smirked at his brother, "Long story."

Brandon crossed his arms, "Well?! Start telling it?"

"Let me pee first, then storytime okay? I'm busting." Giving Julie's hand a quick squeeze, R headed out slowly into the hall to the common bathroom.

"Jesus," he muttered, staring at his reflection in the mirror above the sink. His right side was an ugly mass of dark purples, blues and reds, with some yellows thrown in, and smaller bruises spotted his arms, chest and chin.

Frowning, he studied them.  _Where'd those come from?_

Memories of the attack flashed through his mind, and he was back in the moment, the rage swelling in him as he went for his attacker, slamming him up against the wall, and the man fighting him, lashing out and connecting with his face, his arms, his chest.

Then that feeling rushed through him again... reacting on instinct, his body knowing what to do, hammering the man's skull against the wall, going for his vulnerable throat.

R squeezed his eyes shut and leaned on the sink, his knuckles going white against the porcelain.

There was a knock on the door, followed by his brother's muffled voice, "You okay in there Ro?"

R looked up at himself again, his vivid blue eyes haunted, searching for any sign of his old un-life on his face, his skin. His dark shaggy hair was corpse-like unkempt, but he'd just got out of bed, he could forgive that. His lips and cheeks were full, though a little pale, as was the rest of him, thanks to the pain. But it told him he was alive.

He was okay.

_I'm not dead._

"Yeah... be out in a sec."

Washing up quickly, he poked his head out of the bathroom. His little brother was still standing there, concern heavy on his face.

It was strange, thinking of Brandon as his little brother. They were technically the same age now, thanks to the frozen years he'd spent as a corpse. Actually, If anything his brother looked older, and not just because of his thick beard. Those eight years had worn him down hard, and he was just now starting to pull himself back.

R gave his brother a slight smile, "I'm okay Bran."

"The hell you are," Brandon snapped. "You're a fucking mess! You shouldn't be walking around! You should be in the hospital!"

A door across the hall cracked open. Mandy's room, opening to darkness. A tiny white paw poked its way through the crack at the base of the door, groping for anything interesting.

"Can we maybe not do this here?" R whispered, and herded his brother to his own room.

Julie had laid out some sandwiches and drinks on his small table, and was helping herself to one. She smiled and waved them over, "Come eat. Brandon, you want this half?"

"No Jules, thanks though." Brandon sighed.

R could feel his brother's eyes on him as he sat down slowly on one of his mismatched chairs. "I went to the hospital," he said, wincing, "They sent me home. Remember when dad broke his ribs? Same thing."

"Yeah, but he wasn't attacked, Rowan. This is different, you could have other injuries you're not aware of."

"Tell him about your leg," Julie said brightly, licking stray crumbs off of her finger and giving R a pointed look.

R stared back as he picked up his sandwich. "That's not helping."

"What about your leg?" Brandon asked, his voice rising.

"I just got banged up Bran," R answered with a sigh, "I survived, they caught the guy, and he's not going to hurt anybody else. That's the important thing." As he spoke he stared down at his sandwich, trying to stir up an appetite and failing. Talking about the attack was the last thing he wanted to do right now. What he wanted was everything to just keep its distance and leave him alone.

Yawning widely, he put the sandwich down. The heavy drowsy feeling was starting to tug at him again, the same feeling he remembered from last night driving home from the hospital. It had to be the drugs, and it irritated him. He didn't want to go back to sleep.

"You okay?" Julie asked.

"Yeah... just not hungry." Another yawn snuck up on him and he leaned back in his chair.

Brandon walked over to the bed and sat on it heavily. "Dad's going to lose it when he finds out."

R groaned. That was completely true. His dad was going to pop a valve when the news got to him. Jesus, he couldn't handle his father worrying about him anymore. For weeks after they'd reunited his dad was constantly checking on him, only reluctantly letting him out of his sight. At first, he'd stayed with them both, enjoying being together as a family again, even if it was in a small unfamiliar apartment. It'd been good to have that closeness, the chance to mend eight years of separation, to find answers to all of the questions he'd had for so long. It was only when the questions turned his way that he started to pull away, giving them what he could, but bringing a wall down on what he couldn't. What he didn't want to say. What he didn't want to share. His dad knew what he was doing, and did his best to give him space. But the need was always there, to know and understand what had happened to his son.

R could feel it, knew why it was important to his dad, but couldn't give him what he wanted, and ended up moving back to his own apartment. He'd justified it by wanting to be closer to Julie, and feeling a little cramped in the small space they had. But really, he just needed to get away from his father's worried eyes.

With a deep sigh he rested his head on the back of the chair as his eyelids grew heavy. There was no way he could stop his dad finding out. He probably knew already. Heck, he was probably on his way over now.

_Perfect._

"...falling asleep again." Julie's voice reached him out of the blue.

R's eyes flicked open, and he sat up with a jerk, hissing with the sudden movement.

Had he nodded off again?  _Shit._

Julie was watching him across the small table, her lips pulled in a slight smile, concerned at his obvious pain. "Hey, you're okay."

He shook his head, trying to blink away the drowsiness, "No, can't go to sleep."

"Why can't you go to sleep?" Brandon asked, "Might be the best thing for you right now, help you heal."

R turned to stare at his brother.

Brandon shrugged, "What?"

"He's having horrible nightmares," Julie offered.

"You're having nightmares too? Bro, you're a mess!"

 _That's it._  Slowly, R eased up out of the chair and stood. The heaviness tried to pull him back down, making him feel slow and muzzy as he made his way to the door.

"Where are you going?" Julie asked.

"Have to get some coffee or something," he mumbled, "this is ridiculous."

Julie started to stand, "I can get it for you-"

R shook his head, interrupting her, "No, I need to move or I'll just fall asleep again. I'll be right back."

"I'll come with you," Brandon said, and jumped up to grab the door. They walked out into the hallway and Brandon offered his arm. "Do you need support or something?"

R smirked and shook his head, "No Bran, I'm okay. It'd probably just hurt more anyway."

Brandon nodded and walked at his side as they started down the stairs. It was slow going but the pain was a slight murmur compared to the first night he'd climbed them and it made him incredibly thankful.

"Ro..." his brother started to say.

"Yeah?"  _Please don't ask about the nightmare, please don't ask about the attack. Please._

"I guess we're not going out to find that ring today huh?"

R stopped on the step. With everything that had happened to him over the last twenty four hours, he'd completely forgotten that today was the day they'd planned to go hunting for a ring. A ring he was going to slip on Julie's finger after asking her to marry him. Finding one just right in this post-apocalyptic world was going to be interesting. There were a few people who crafted jewelry in the city, who were now doing very well since the wall had come down, but R didn't have enough to trade for what they offered, not even after rummaging through his stash on the 747.

They'd come up with a plan to try the abandoned jewelry shops scattered in the suburbs a ways from the city. There was no guarantee they'd find anything - they were the first stores to be looted when things went nuts, even though looting for things you couldn't eat, drink or use as a weapon or medicine stopped pretty quickly when shit really hit the fan - but it'd seemed like a good place to start.

With a smile, he nodded, "Yeah. Give me a week, then we'll go."

The thought of asking her, of going through that moment, and he'd played it out in his head so many times, made his heart feel like it was going to jump out of his chest. He was absolutely terrified and excited at the same time, and it was a weird place to be. Even now he was grinning like a fool as they took the last flight of stairs.

"It's cool you know," Brandon said as they reached the ground floor.

"What?"

"To see you smile like that. She really makes you happy, doesn't she."

R grinned, "Yeah." His smile grew thoughtful. "She makes me more than happy Bran, she gave me a new life." Then he shrugged, trying to defuse how serious that sounded. It was true though. Without her, he'd still be a corpse.

Brandon tilted his head to stare at R, then nodded. "I feel the same way about Sarah."

"I can tell," R said, smiling. Sarah was his brother's girlfriend, who'd been a corpse herself. He'd met her a few times now, and while she seemed a little shy, she had an easy laugh and kind eyes. According to his Dad, Sarah had pretty much turned his brother's life around. Something else to be thankful for. "I'm glad Bran, she's really sweet."

"Yeah," his brother looked down with a soft smile.

They turned the corner into the kitchen, and it didn't take R long to realize that all conversation around them had come to an abrupt end. Glancing around the room as they made their slow way to the coffee machine, he started to feel distinctly uncomfortable. Everyone in the room was watching him. A small group of people sat around one of the tables against the far wall, and another, larger group were gathered about the central couch. All of them newly living, some only recently rehabilitated, shadowed eyes focused his way.

"We heard about... the attack," an older man in the group closest to him suddenly spoke up, "Are you okay?"

R tried to suppress a frown. The news had spread fast. "I'm fine, thanks."

Brandon snorted, and R shot him a dark look. This wasn't attention he wanted right now, and his brother wasn't helping.

"What happened?" someone else asked.

They were overlapped by another, "How did you stop him?"

"I didn't, the soldi-"

One of the larger group interrupted him, "Who was he?"

"Did you really try to bite him?" a younger lady asked from across the room, and the others fell silent.

Brandon started to laugh, "Where the hell did you hear that?"

"From one of the soldiers," she answered, crossing her arms. "She heard it from the guy who attacked him."

"Oh, he's the one to believe, sure." Brandon snorted.

The girl ignored his brother and looked back at R. He found himself staring at the long, mottled scar running across her neck. "Is it true?" she asked again. "Cause I think it's cool if it is - he totally deserves it."

 _Great._  With no intention of answering her, R gave up on the coffee and turned back towards the hall, but someone stepped into his path - the older man who'd spoken to him first. The man was extending his hand, as if he wanted to shake R's.

"I just wanted... to say thank you... for stopping... him," the man said, his voice still holding on to the halting cadence of the dead, and smiled.

R wasn't sure what to say. He hadn't stopped the guy, he'd just been in the wrong place at the wrong time and been lucky someone had come along.

He shook his head, "I didn-"

Someone else came to his side, an older Indian woman with a bright smile, and she squeezed his arm. "We owe you our thanks," she said softly.

More of the once-dead gathered around him and he suddenly found himself surrounded by faces he didn't know. Questions assailed him, others mumbled their thanks, and everyone seemed to be reaching out to touch him, as if he was some kind of savior. His nerves started screaming.

"STOP IT!" he snapped, and those around him jumped, some jerking back as if stung.

"Just stop it," he wheezed, bringing his arm to his side as his ribs flared painfully. "I didn't... do anything. The soldier saved my ass... that's all. Thank him if you need to. Just... leave me alone."

"Hey, let me through," Brandon spoke up from somewhere and R felt a warm, firm hand on his shoulder. "C'mon bro, let's go."

"I'm sorry," R said quietly, unable to look anyone in the eye. He hadn't meant to be a dick. "I just... don't want to talk about it."

Letting his brother lead him away, they returned to the hall and slowly took the stairs back up to the apartment. Brandon kept his thoughts to himself, occasionally asking if R was okay when his breath hitched in pain, but otherwise keeping pace with him in silence. R was thankful for it. He'd half expected his brother to ask about biting the guy, and it wasn't something he wanted to discuss. He just wanted to forget it'd ever happened and go back to everything being okay.

Downstairs had shaken him. After all this time, so many of the once-dead treated him with a kind of reverence that he neither wanted nor felt he deserved. He hadn't meant to snap, but his nerves were already taut - the horror of the nightmares, the manic attack, that terrifying moment where he'd almost bitten the guy... it was too much. Everything just needed to step back and give him some room to breathe.

They stepped onto his floor and caught Julie emerging from his room. Smiling apologetically at him, she walked over. "Hey, Dad just called me on the comm, he wants me to head over to the armory for a minute." Her brilliant blue eyes searched his own as she took his hand, giving it a little squeeze. "Will you be okay?"

At that point, looking into those eyes, he would've said anything she needed to hear. R smiled down at her and nodded, "Yeah, I'll be fine."

"I'll stay with him," Brandon offered with a little wave.

Julie nodded at his brother, "Okay. I shouldn't be long."

Her eyes turned back to him, and a small smile played at her lips as she tilted her head in that way he adored.

"Sorry," she said as she pressed against him.

"It's okay," he answered, and leaned in to kiss her softly.

Pulling away with a sigh, she gave his hand one last squeeze before disappearing down the stairs.

R watched her go, then made his way to his door and into the room. Brandon followed and stood watching him from the door as he eased down into a chair.

Eventually, his brother walked over and sat across from him. R stared at his hand, at the remnants of a scar from the bus accident so many years ago, and didn't look at Brandon, though he felt the weight of his gaze.

This quiet was good, if they could just keep this going, it'd be great.

"So you don't want to talk about what just happened downstairs," Brandon said.

R groaned inwardly. "I really don't."

"Seriously Ro," his brother continued, "It might be good for you to talk about this stuff with someone. About all of it."

"All of what?" R asked in a flat voice, looking up to glare at his brother.

"You know, being dead..." Brandon paused and looked away for a moment, "what you did to people, being attacked fo-"

"Shut up," R snapped suddenly, and he blinked, surprised at his own bluntness.

Brandon looked like he'd been slapped, then his brow lowered, "See,  _that_ ," he said, stabbing his finger at R, "That's why you need to-"

"Bran," R interrupted, his tone cold and even, "Drop it. I mean it."

"No, I won't!" Brandon said forcefully, stabbing his finger against the table, "Obviously this shit is affecting you, you've got to-"

R stood abruptly and walked towards the door.

"Where are you going?" Brandon sighed, "You can't keep running away from this stuff Ro, you've got to deal with it."

Every word coming out of his brother's mouth scraped at his nerves. It was too much, and he'd had enough.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said, and his stomach lurched with the reality of what he was about to do as he opened the door. "You are."

Brandon's face darkened, "I am, huh?"

"Yeah." R said, his voice rough, and he held his side as the pain flared up with his anger. "Get out."

His brother was quiet for a moment, studying him, his mouth set tightly.

"Fine," he finally muttered, then stood and walked to the door. As he pulled level with R, he stopped, opening his mouth as if to say something. Then he shook his head and left.

R shut the door hard behind him, and leaned against it, his side and leg throbbing wickedly.

 _Fuck._  That was not how he meant to handle that. That was not how he'd wanted to treat his brother. But he couldn't help it. Couldn't take it.

Brandon was absolutely right.

"Shit," R whispered, hanging his head, guilt filling him over what he'd just done. Reunited with his family for just over a month now, and he'd just kicked his brother out of his apartment.

_Awesome._

God, his side was livid. Was the pill wearing off? Clutching his ribs, he shuffled to his bed and stared down at it for a moment. He was supposed to be laying down, but doing that right now was going to hurt. A lot.

He spied the pills on the side table with the glass of water Julie had brought. Would it be bad to take another one now? How long had it been? Every four hours, Stephen had said, and there was no way it'd been that long.

R slowly sat on the edge of the bed, his breathing shallow and quick as his ribs grated painfully. He eyed the pills again. If he took another, he was going to fall asleep. If he fell asleep, he'd dream again.

_No way._

Before he could think too much about it, he swiveled around and lay back, and promptly screamed, raw agony ripping violently through his body.

"Holy... shit," he gasped, squeezing his eyes against the pain, trying to unclench every muscle working to protect his side, but just making it so much worse.

Desperately, he groped for the pills, and pulled one out, downing it with a quick sip from a glass held in shaking hands.

Replacing the glass on the stand, he slowly sank back against the bed, teeth clenched, his breath reduced to shallow puffs as he waited for the pill to take effect.

Julie said she'd be back soon. How long had it been? He wondered why her dad had called her over. Was something wrong?

R's eyes blinked open. Was it about him? Frowning, he stared up at the ceiling. The idea hung onto him and wouldn't let him go. Could her dad be talking to her about the attack? About almost biting the guy? The idiot had yelled it at her yesterday, but she hadn't mentioned it since. She'd obviously thought the guy was raving. But what if the Colonel took it seriously?

Ever since he stood up to her father in the hospital, the Colonel had treated him with a kind of grudging respect. Even though, and R winced with the memory, he'd been naked at the time. But as much as the man tolerated him spending time with his daughter, R always felt as if he was on some kind of extreme probation. The 'one strike and you're out' kind.

Maybe this was his one strike?

R shook his head against his pillow. No, he didn't believe that. And hell, even if it was true, the Colonel couldn't keep them apart. Julie wouldn't let him.

Thinking about Julie again made him smile.

Gradually, a heavy, peaceful feeling enveloped him as he lay there, and his mind started playing through the plans he had to propose.

It was going to be amazing.

As his breathing relaxed, and his eyes blinked slowly shut, he knew he was falling asleep, that the drug had taken hold. Stirring, he tried to fight it, not wanting to face what he'd done again, but it was useless. Everything was just too heavy, too comfortable.

Eventually he just let go, resigned to whatever might happen.

_Time to face the music again._

After all, the girl had already killed him in a dream, what more could she do?

As he drifted off, his last thoughts were of Julie, smiling at him as she danced around his airplane.

* * *

_My writing process is really weird I think. I sort of puzzle out the big events, where I think the story is going to go, but it often feels like scrying, like I'm waving my hand above a pool, trying to make the images clearer, and they have very little to do with me. I often do not know what's going to happen until I'm actually writing the scene itself, and often what happens next surprises the heck out of me. The story does some strange things because of this. ;)_


	6. The Proposal

They walked, hand in hand, down the deserted street, as sheets of newspaper and urban detritus fluttered weakly in the limp breeze around them. The day was overcast, dark clouds hanging low in the sky, obscuring the sun and diffusing the light into a flat grey.

It was wonderful. He was with Julie and it was wonderful. Today he was going to ask her to marry him, and he had just the place planned.

"Where are we going?" she said, giggling as she asked, smiling at him as he pulled her along.

"Somewhere," he answered, grinning like a fool. Nervousness and joy were wound together so tightly inside of him that he was almost dancing as he walked. He couldn't wait.

"Somewhere," she echoed, her eyebrows raising and her smile turning sly, "Well, that's helpful." Then she laughed, because he was running now, and almost pulling her off her feet.

They passed a bus stop, and seated on the bench inside were two corpses, stripped to the bone, their flesh flaked skulls resting against each other, their spindly fingers entwined.

As they ran by, Julie smiled at them and waved. "That's so sweet," she sighed, then giggled as he wrenched her away.

Finally, they were there.

The park spread out before them, stunted trees twisted against the grey sky, brown leaves quivering, trembling in fear before the final fall. The old scarred oak reared back from the burnt out skeleton of a car in the center of the park, surrounded by a circle of charred ground.

It was perfect.

Before them, on the very edge, sat the grey bench.

This was the spot. This was the moment.

Heart pounding in his chest, R took Julie's hands in both of his own, and pulled her towards the bench. Smiling softly, her blue eyes focused only on him, she sat back against the old weathered wood as he guided her there.

Slowly, he knelt down in front of her, and her brow crinkled in curiosity.

"What are you doing?" she asked, but he just shook his head and smiled.

Reaching back, he pulled the ring box from his back pocket.

The moment she saw it was just as he had imagined over and over again - her eyes went wide, her hand flew to her mouth as it fell open in surprise. Then those glorious eyes rose to his and flooded with tears. His heart thrummed wildly in his chest.

"Oh my god... R..." she whispered, the tears flowing freely down her face, "Oh my god..."

He laughed then, because everything was perfect, and he knew she'd say yes. He just had to show her the ring.

Prying open the box, he presented it to her and opened his mouth to say the words he'd practiced in his mind for a month.

But something was wrong. Instead of the joy he'd expected to see, there was just confusion. Her eyes drifted from the box to him, to the box again, and she frowned.

"R..." she said, sniffing back the tears, "It's... empty?"

Heart plummeting, he twisted the box around. She was right. It was completely empty. Everything clenched inside of him as his gut twisted wildly. How could this happen? He'd found the perfect ring? What happened to it?

Did he drop it? He must have! God, he had to find it!

"Stay here, I'll be right back," he mumbled, getting to his feet, and Julie nodded, wiping her eyes against her sleeve.

Scanning the ground in front of him, he ran back the way he'd come, occasionally stopping when something glittered promisingly on the ground. But the ring refused to be found.

As he ran, something began to feel strange.

Why were they here?

As he passed the bus stop, he stared at the only occupants, the couple holding hands. But they were skeletons. They were dead.

_Why did I bring Julie here?_

Staring around himself, R started to feel a terrible, rising dread. This place, everything around them, was dead. Everything. The people in the bus stop, the corpses lying in the brown grass in front of the house with shattered windows across the street. The man in the blue sedan in front of him, flies drifting in and out of his swollen mouth.

_Oh my god._

_Julie._

Adrenaline jittered through his body as he turned and sprinted back the way he'd come, back to the park. He had to find Julie, he had to get her out of here, this wasn't a good place, he had to...

He slowed to a walk, frowning as he spied the bench in the distance.

_Who's that?_

Someone was holding Julie on the bench? Someone had their arms around her?

_This is wrong. I've been here before... this is..._

Julie screamed and jerked wildly in the arms of the figure, that he now recognized as a young girl with wild auburn hair. Julie was fighting her, but held fast.

Blood sprayed over them both.

"JULIE!" R screamed, and rushed forward, watching in horror as Julie's struggles grew weaker in the girl's arms.

"NOO!" he roared, and tore around the bench, grabbing Julie around the waist and wrenching her free. There was a horrific wet tearing sound as the girl pulled back, and he gasped as he saw the jagged gaping hole at Julie's neck, gushing with dark blood.

Julie was jerking in his arms, strangled noises coming from her throat, as he pulled her away and desperately pressed against the flow of hot blood.

_Too much blood, too much, I can't..._

"No, Julie.. no... please," he cried, unable to stop the bleeding, unable to stop the life leaking from her.

Her eyes locked onto his as her mouth worked soundlessly, and her body relaxed, easing back against his arms. He felt the pain and shock there as his own, the terrible sadness that filled them as she faded away.

Then she was gone. The blue eyes that stared up at him lost their focus, lost the soul that had lit them from within, and went dull.

Julie was dead.

"No..." he whispered, shaking his head as he pulled her to his chest. "Nonono..." Holding her close, he rocked her still body gently, pressing his face against her cooling skin. Her warm blood dribbled down his arms.

"Come back to me... Julie.. please," he whispered against her ear, stroking her hair as he held her.

But she didn't stir, and he knew she never would.

An agonized, desperate wail rose from his throat, shattering the still silence of the park. Despair enveloped him, filling him utterly, and he sank to the ground, unable to bear its weight.

Everything was gone. Everything that gave his life meaning was gone. Julie was dead, and every dream he had inside, of their life together, of a world changing, growing, healing... died.

As he lay there sobbing, holding her body in his arms, the chill from the ground seeping deeply through his skin, a small cold hand fell on his temple and stroked there, leaving a wet trail of blood.

A girl's voice spoke above him, in the thin whisper of a corpse, "You have to end our pain..."

An overwhelming stench of blood and rot engulfed him as she leaned down to his cheek, rasping the words he knew she would say.

"You have to FIND ME."


	7. The Singer

Despair, raw and suffocating, hung over him in the darkness as his body shook in deep sobs. Everything was gone. The yawning emptiness in his chest was bottomless.  _Julie..._

 _God... no..._  He held her tight, as if he could somehow bring her into himself, split a piece of his soul and bring her back to life. But it was useless... he was lost. The tears would not stop.

"Rowan... god, please wake up baby, I'm here, I'm right  _here..._ "

Someone was holding him, brushing their warm hands against his face, stroking his brow... that touch, he knew that touch.

The body in his arms was moving...

"R... please! Please wake up... everything's okay!"

R slowly came back to himself, pulling up through a deep well of grief as the dream drew away from his body. Someone was sobbing, and he realized dully, that it was his voice... his throat the sounds were coming from.

Blinking his eyes open to the darkness of his room, he felt the fresh trails of tears across his cheek and jaw, his face was damp with them.

And Julie was there, pressed up against him in the bed, wrapped in his arms, her eyes fraught with worry and wet with tears of her own. With soft fingers, she gently stroked his brow, as she searched his eyes desperately.

"R?" she whispered, her eyes wide with shock, "You're okay... I'm here..."

Seeing her, vividly alive in front of him, brought up the most desperate, irrational fear that she would be pulled from him again. With a choked sob he frantically drew her close, burying his head in her shoulder as she squeezed him back tightly.

"Dear god R, what happened?"

 _The dream. The fucking dream._  He couldn't open his mouth, couldn't trust himself to talk without breaking down, and just shook his head against her warm skin.

"I'm here, I've got you," Julie whispered as she stroked the back of his head, "It was just a dream."

Nodding, he turned and pressed his lips against her cheek. Her skin was warm and flushed. She was here, she was real. She was alive.

_Just a dream._

With a few deep, steadying breaths he gently pulled back from her, resting his head against his pillow as he wiped his hand down his tear-streaked face.

"Jesus," he whispered up to the ceiling, then turned to stare at her. She was watching him closely, frowning, her hand gently caressing his chest. Turning towards her, he reached out to brush her hair back from her temple, and the lazy waves of gold tickled his palm she leaned into his hand.

Alive. Brilliantly alive.

"Julie..." The urge to cry hit him again and he fought to clamp it down.

_Not real, let it go._

Julie must have seen his struggle, because her frown deepened and fresh tears welled, "R... please tell me what's going on... please... I can't take this anymore..." Then her eyes fell and she started to cry.

"Oh god... I'm so sorry," drawing her in again, he cradled her head and whispered into her hair, "I will." A heavy sigh fell from him. "I'm just... scared."

Julie pulled back, frowning at him through the tears, "About  _what?_  You said that before, but I don't understand."

"I don't want you to see..."

"See what?"

"What I did, what I was. What's still a part of me."

Julie propped herself up on an elbow, and wiped the back of her hand across her eyes. "R," she started, and her tone suggested he was about to get a lecture. "I saw what you did, what you were, and it's not who you are anymore."

"You didn't see what I did Julie. You didn't see me hurt anyone. I've wanted to protect you from that."

"Well that's bullshit," she said bluntly.

R was astounded. "What?"

"You were trying to protect yourself, not me. Don't tell me that." Smirking, she poked him in the chest, "You're worried I'll find out that you  _actually_ killed people and won't love you anymore."

R blinked. Yet again, Julie had rendered him speechless. Yet again, she knew him better than he truly understood.

"I love you R," she said softly, "I always will. I know you hurt people. I know you killed people." She stared intently into his eyes, as if she needed him to really hear her, to really understand. "You are not the same person you were."

R gave her a small smile, but it never reached his eyes. They fell instead to the small hollow at the base of her neck. He might not be the same person, but it was all still in him. He only had to remember the attack to know that.

"Hey," Julie said, catching his eye. "You are never going to hurt anyone like you did. You are never going back to that life. You have to forgive yourself for what you did, and let it go."

He gave a heavy sigh. "Julie, I have to tell you something. About the other night."

"Is this about almost biting that guy?" She groaned, oblivious to his shocked reaction, "Because I'll tell you exactly what I told my dad-"

R's heart stuttered in a sudden panic, "Your dad told you about it?!"

"Yeah, he mentioned it, but that's not important-"

He interrupted her again, "It's important to me! Last thing I want is your dad thinking I'm turning into a corpse again - he almost killed me the last time that happened!"

Julie fixed him with a look. "Rowan."

"Julie," he answered, with a sigh.

"I will tell you what I told him, which probably hasn't even crossed your mind, because you're a guy and guys can be so oblivious." She paused, "How much hand to hand fighting did you do before you died?"

R stared at her. "Uh..."

"Were you a boxer? Martial artist? Wrestler?"

"Um..." was all he could muster, he was still at a loss.

"Were you?"

"No? I really didn't get into that many fights." He smirked, "My brother did though, even when he was a little kid. He used to-"

"We're talking about you R, this is important."

R smirked again, "No, I didn't, and I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Like I said, you're a guy. Anyway..." Julie pressed her hands gently against his chest, and looked at him intently. "When's the last time someone came at you with a baseball bat?"

It slowly began to dawn on him, what she was trying to say. He searched his memories, and found one. From when he was a corpse... hunting. The old guy he'd found hiding in an abandoned hospital, living off of pigeons he trapped on the roof. The man had rushed him with a bat, R had blocked it, grappled with him... and slammed his head against a metal cabinet before tearing into his throat.

"I get it," he said flatly, and turned back on his side, staring up at the ceiling as the man's memories flickered unbidden through his mind like an old movie. The man had been a singer with a deep love for the music of Frank Sinatra. Most nights he spent in clubs another city over, crooning to small crowds, surrounded by a haze of cigarette smoke and the sour tang of liquor. The loss of his wife and son in an car accident, caused by a drunk driver, had crushed him. He'd quit the clubs, and the city, and moved on to a quiet position as a janitor in the hospital, where he mopped long hallways at night, whistling and humming his old songs, keeping his thoughts to himself.

_Until I tore them from his skull.  
_

"Shit. I've made you remember something horrible, haven't I." Julie sighed. "I'm sorry."

Staring up at the ceiling still, he said nothing. What was there to say?

Julie pressed against him, resting her head against his shoulder. "Your body was only doing what it knew, that's all. That's it."

R nodded quietly. It made perfect sense. He'd be happier if he hadn't just remembered killing an old man.

Julie sighed again, shifting her head slightly to look up at him. "I'm sorry I pushed you. I shouldn't have. I just know you carry this around with you."

R looked at her with a small smile. "It's okay. Thanks for helping me see it your way."

The old man's crooning voice echoed in his head,  _I did it... myyyy... waaay._

 _Jesus, shut up._  Wincing, he turned away, trying to shake the echoes. The room was dark and the building around them eerily quiet. The old alarm clock on the bedside table, bathed in the pale reflected light from a streetlamp outside, told him it was 3:00am.

Julie's hand rested gently on his back. "You okay?"

He nodded.

"How's your side?"

R frowned. That was strange, he'd totally forgotten about his ribs. Hadn't felt even a murmur from them since he'd been awake. And the pill would've worn off by now.

"Amazing, actually."

He remembered hugging Julie earlier, how good he had felt, the way the pain had just vanished. Maybe it really was his closeness to her that helped? How incredible was that? Perhaps whatever they had hadn't just stopped as soon as he'd turned back. Perhaps it was something they would always have?

The idea made him smile, and he turned back to her. She was staring at him, her face softly lit in the reflected light, her eyes glinting as she glanced down at his mouth and back again.

"What?" she said, smirking at him. "What are you smiling at?"

"You."

She grinned. "Why?"

"Because."

Julie rolled her eyes, "Oh that's help-"

R leaned in and silenced her with a kiss. Julie giggled at first, then melted against him, drawing the kiss into something deeper. Their breaths merged in warm gasps as his hands roamed the soft supple skin of her back, pulling her closer still.

As his lips traveled down her bare neck, she made a soft noise, and he lost himself with the sound, immersed in the taste and scent of her skin. Against the touch of his mouth came the subtle tremor of her pulse.

_Just another kind of music._

R froze and his eyes snapped open. The dreams slinked back into his mind, trickling through his nerves, deadening his desire. Julie's throat ripped open. Biting through the thick muscles of the girl's neck, freeing the gushing life inside.

"What's wrong?" Julie asked as he quickly pulled away.

Shaking his head, he turned over and lay on his back.

"Shit," he breathed and rubbed his hands over his face. "I'm sorry..."

Julie sighed, but squeezed in alongside him and rested her head against his arm. "Can you tell me what's going on?"

"The dream. Something terrible happened," he answered softly, "To you."

She got very still, then propped herself up on an elbow again. Her blonde hair dangled haphazardly around her face. "I knew you were crying about me... did I die?"

Nodding, he looked at her, and he knew she could see the pain on his face.

"How?" she asked softly.

R stared at her, trying to work out how to answer that. He couldn't tell her everything right now. But he would. He'd made his mind up to do that today. As soon as daylight came he was going to take her to the plane and explain... everything. The idea filled him with dread, but he knew it had to happen.

"You were killed by a corpse. I tried... to save you..." The dream flooded through him, the horror of seeing her die in his arms saturated him, and his voice lowered, "but I was too late."

"Oh R..." Julie sighed, "I'm so sorry." Leaning over, she kissed him gently on the temple. "Just a dream," she murmured.

He released a deep breath. "I know."

She perked up suddenly, "Was it messy? Did I put up a good fight?"

He stared at her, aghast. "What?!"

Julie giggled, "I'm just curious. Like, if you had to rate it out of ten, one being pathetic, ten being amazingly heroic, how would you rate it?"

"Jesus Julie... it was horrible. You didn't have a chance."

Her face fell in mock horror, "It was pathetic wasn't it... I tripped didn't I?"

"No," he started to grin despite himself, "You didn't trip."

"I ran around screaming like a little girl, right? Pathetic."

R laughed out loud.

Julie's face softened to a smile, as she stared down at him. "Good to hear you laugh."

He smiled back, "Thanks for making me laugh."

Leaning over again, she kissed him softly, then pulled away until they were only an inch apart, her eyes bright in the dim light of the room.

R closed the distance, cradling the back of her head as their lips met urgently, hungrily. Drowning in the moment, his hands roamed down the warm landscape of her back, then slipped under the elastic of her underwear to grasp her round cheeks, squeezing them tightly as he drew her against him.

Julie gasped against his mouth and pressed eagerly into him, and together their fevered fingers worked to strip the clothes that kept them apart.

Freed and wrapped deeply in each others skin, the world fell away from them.


	8. The Brother

R slowly opened his eyes, blinking against the grey light that flooded his vision. Shivering in the cold air, he realized he was lying on his side on something hard. Grey wood slats supported his head. Before him stretched a field of brown grasses and dark skeletal trees. The old oak leaned perilously in the center of the park, supporting the immolated carcass of a sedan and its driver.

_Fuuuck._

_I'm here again._

Wrapping his arms around himself, he sat up against the bench, still shivering in the cold. The familiar fabric of his old red hoodie wasn't doing the job against the chilly pall that hung over the park. Pulling the hood over his head, he quickly scanned the area, looking for the girl.

She wasn't anywhere to be seen.

_I have had it with this shit._

"You might as well show yourself and get it over with!" he yelled into the cold day, "I'm done playing along!"

Frowning deeply, he slouched back against the bench, pulling his hood lower as he watched his breath fog in the crisp air of a grey afternoon.

"I'll save you the trouble, I've got to find you, got it," he muttered. "Can I wake up now?"

A terribly sad sound reached him, as if from very far away, and slowly grew louder until it was very, very near.

Someone was crying next to him.

Twisting around at the sound, he saw the girl on the other side of the bench, curled over her knees, shaking in deep sobs, her auburn hair a wild tangled mass around her shoulders.

His instincts immediately started screaming.

_Oh shit._

He'd been ready for anything, but crying was so completely off the radar he found himself staring at her, frozen. As he waited for her to do something, his nerves firing signals to  _run, get away_ , her sobs only deepened, full of despair. It tugged at him, and he tried to resist the urge to reach out and comfort her.

If he did, he had no doubt she would leap up at him. Probably with no face. This was a horror movie waiting to happen, just like every other dream he'd had with her.

But she didn't jump, she didn't change. Her cries were real, and her grief washed over him, pulling at his heart. Without meaning to, he found himself stretching out a hand in comfort.

"Hey... uh..." he asked, completely lost as to what to say.

As his hand pressed down onto her pink jacket, her head turned towards him, her large brown eyes red-rimmed and swollen. And she was human. Just a human kid, terribly sad.

It broke his heart.

"I'm so sorry for what I did to you," he said quietly. "If I could take it back, I would."

The girl sniffed, running the sleeve of her pink jacket across her nose. "I know," she sighed. "Me too. I... I never meant to be so mean."

R didn't say anything. He didn't want to make her more upset. Instead he gently rubbed her shoulder, trying to be comforting, as his nerves still jangled oddly.

"I just wanted to get your attention," she added softly.

"Well you've fucking got it!" he blurted out laughing, then winced as she started to cry again.

"I was angry okay!?" she cried at him, almost spitting the words, "You hurt me! You killed me!"

As he sat there, his heart wrenched in guilt, not sure what to say, she curled against her knees again and her weeping drifted over the sad scene of the park.

With a heavy sigh, he shuffled closer, draping his arm over her shoulders. The echoes of that day came back to him, the way he'd held her fast as he killed her, and he went to pull away, but she suddenly flung herself at him, wrapping her arms around his midriff.

Panic flooded through him until he realized she was still crying, still shaking with a terrible sadness. Slowly his arms fell and he held her as she cried.

"I can't... take this anymore," she whispered against him. "Please... help me."

"How?"

She pulled away to stare at him, her brown eyes pleading, "Find me. Stop him."

R frowned, completely confused. "Who?"

"My brother," she whispered, and he could tell she was scared.

_Her brother? What?  
_

"I don't understand," he said, staring down at her, "why do I have to stop your brother?"

Her eyes were unnaturally wide as she whispered up at him, "He's doing very bad things."

R's mouth went suddenly dry, and his heart thumped loudly in his chest. "What things?"

"He won't let me die," she said, her voice barely audible, and her eyes filled with tears again, "I just want it to stop, but he won't let me die."

"What?" he said, not understanding at all, his skin crawling with a growing sense of dread.

"He keeps... feeding me."

As she spoke, her voice changed from that of a terrified young girl, to the sound of grinding stone over dry earth. Her eyes dulled over, then were swallowed completely by the dark hollows of her sockets, as her skin pulled taut over her teeth, exposing withered blackened gums.

R cried out and tried to push the mummified skeleton away, but it held onto him fast, its arms locked around his chest, nails digging through the thick cotton of his hoodie into his skin.

"Get off!" he yelled, and started hammering the withered skull with his fists, desperate to get free. Its grip only tightened and he screamed as he felt something crack inside. The agony burned him like a fire and he trembled with it, unable to breathe, unable to get away.

"Please..." he gasped, trying to reach whatever was left of the girl inside the corpse, "I can't help... if you keep... killing me."

The grip slowly eased, and he took in a deep rasping breath, then whimpered from the pain of his crushed ribs. He tried to focus on the face of the creature as it pulled its arms free and stood before him.

"Where... where are you?" he whispered, cradling his side.

The skeleton lifted a withered arm and pointed behind him. He tried to follow where, but yelped and doubled over as something crunched wetly inside. Every breath he took was gurgling, and he didn't understand why until he coughed and his mouth flooded with blood.

"Oh... great," he rasped, spitting blood onto the dry wood of the bench. "Please say... find me... so I... can wake up."

The skeleton slowly leaned towards him, its skull drawing level with R's face as he struggled to breathe.

With shocking speed, it thrust its clawed hand deep into R's chest.

R stared down in shock.

Blood pulsed from the wound, over the creatures arm, over his lap. There was no pain, just a tremendous, terrifying  _pressure_.

With a violent wrench the boney ripped its hand away, and his chest was suddenly hollow inside, where it should never feel hollow.

R coughed and looked up, his eyes fading.

She was holding his heart. Blood spurted from the jaggedly severed arteries and veins as it trembled in her withered hand.

As he sagged against the bench, blood pouring from the massive hole in his chest, it leaned over him again.

"Set me free..." it rasped, and its jaws closed over the quivering organ, biting deeply through the thick muscle.

"...FIND ME..."


	9. The Family

"Gary, I really don't think this is a good idea," the woman said, staring out the car window as she brushed a lock of short brown hair from her face. They were moving slowly now, through deserted suburban streets, littered with rusting cars, lined with dark and empty houses, curtains billowing from broken windows. Apparently her husband wasn't quite sure which cross street they needed to take to get where they were going. That was a promising sign.

"And why is that Susan?" Gary replied, in a rather exasperated tone. "Is it because the  _Colonel_ ," he emphasized the word sarcastically, "said it wasn't safe?"

Susan sighed, "I know you've always had a problem with that man Gary, but-"

"But nothing," he interrupted, "The guy's a pompous ass who shouldn't have been put in charge in the first place. He's had way too much power for too long and thinks he can keep bossing people around, now that everything's changed? Thinks he can keep enforcing his tight-ass rules?"

"Those rules kept us safe Gary, for almost eight years."

"Those rules kept us cloistered Susan," he answered, glaring at her as he took the next right. Then he grinned, "There we go, I knew we were on the right track, there's the park!" He glanced up at the rear view mirror, "Hey Alex, remember those swings? We used to go there all the time!"

"I was five dad," a quiet voice answered from the back seat, "I don't remember it at all. Uh... is that a car against that tree?"

Susan tried to muster up an encouraging smile for her daughter, "We're probably the first to this neighborhood for a while sweetheart. The military just hasn't had a chance to... clean things up yet."

"Oh. Great..." Alex murmured.

"We're going to be fine you two," Gary said quickly, "We've got a ton of food in the back, we're going to get our garden going again, set up some rain barrels. We'll be fine." Grinning widely, he took the next street on their left. "And here we are! Our home! We're back home!"

They pulled into a wide driveway leading up to a large, cream colored two story house with stone facade front.

Susan frowned, "Gary, the door is wide open."

"Well," he said with a sigh, "It's been over eight years, I expected we might have a few visitors while we were gone." Tapping his hands on the steering wheel, he grinned at them both, "The important thing is that it's still standing! We have our home back Susan!"

As he grabbed her in a quick hug, Susan allowed herself a small smile. Gary's enthusiasm made up for a lot. She still wasn't sure how they were going to make this work, but she was at least willing to give it a try. It had been hard, living in the middle of a crowded, walled off city, with too many people, lax sanitation, and haphazard education for their daughter. Gary had worked in general labor for a while, then on the farm, learning good skills they could put to use now, but they'd never been happy. No one truly had.

Now perhaps they had a chance.

As they walked towards the entrance, Gary readied the machete he'd brought along for their protection - apparently a handgun was too expensive a trade - and extended a hand to push the door open fully, craning his neck to check down the hallway and into the two side rooms.

He glanced back at them, "Stay here until I give the all clear."

"Roger that," Alex said, flicking her fingers past her temple in a mock salute.

Gary smiled at that, but he was usually oblivious to his daughters sarcasm. Susan chided Alex with a look, and her daughter just shrugged up at her.

Gary finally reappeared, looking a little less happy than he had going in.

"There's a fair amount of damage upstairs, looks like someone squatted up there for a bit. Left a window open too, so we've got some water damage, and the floor's a little... droopy," he said.

"Well, that's just great," Susan sighed.

"But downstairs looks good! Furniture's in pretty good shape, kitchen's still got most of our old stuff."

"What about our personal things Gary? The photos, mom and dad's framings?"

"No idea, didn't look, c'mon, time to move back home!"

As her husband rushed past them to grab their sleeping gear from the car, Susan put her arm around her daughter, giving her a reassuring squeeze.

"I had friends in the city, mom," Alex said, looking up at her.

Susan nodded and sighed again, "I know. More and more people are moving out though sweetheart, trying to reclaim their old lives. You'll see, we'll have neighbors again." She smiled warmly down at her daughter, "You'll have new friends."

She steered Alex around, "Come on, let's help your dad unpack."

By the time they were done moving their meager possessions into the house, the day had settled into late afternoon, and the sun was starting to fall in the west. The house felt no more welcoming than it did when they first got there, it was as if their possessions no longer fit, or they didn't. Susan was happy to see that many of her personal belongings were still stacked in cupboards and bookcases, but many of the books themselves appeared to have been burnt by their squatter in the fireplace.

When she found that many of the photos had been burnt too, Susan was devastated. Apparently the person using their home as a half way house had burned through everything they could, avoiding the heavily varnished or painted wood items, and then just moved on.

She lifted a fragment of a photo from the fireplace. A picture of her family, when Alex was still a toddler. Susan was holding her, smiling proudly, in front of their house, but Gary had been burnt almost completely away. Just the top of his head remained, and when she brushed it, it fell away to ash.

With a deep sigh, she turned away to find her husband. He was busy in the kitchen, gathering up every candle, flashlight and battery he could find.

"They burned all of them Gary," she said quietly.

"All of what," he asked, not looking at her as he checked another drawer.

"The photos. Our photos. All of our books."

"Really?" Glancing up at her and away again, Gary turned to the other counter. "Well, I guess they must have been cold."

Susan glared at him, until he finally pulled away from the drawers and straightened to look at her.

Gary sighed, "I'm sorry Susan, I know how much you were hoping they'd survived." Gently, he reached out and squeezed her arm, "But it's been eight years sweetheart, I'm frankly surprised our house is still livable."

Susan crossed her arms, still glaring at him, "With the master bedroom about to fall into the living room."

"It's not  _that_ bad Susan. Once it's had a chance to dry out, I'll have it fixed in no time."

Susan shook her head and left the room, wandering out the back of the house to the dried up yard. Her daughter was swinging idly back and forth on her old plastic swing set, a little too small for her now, and watching the colors change in the sky as the sun sank further.

"Alex?"

"Yes mom," her daughter answered, without looking over.

"I think we're going to start a fire soon, did you want to help?"

"Sure," Alex said heavily, and pulled herself from the swing set.

As they reentered the house, Gary was standing by the front door, staring out across the street. Susan walked over and peered out, curious.

"I guess we have neighbors," her husband said, though his voice was a little subdued, considering.

Once Susan saw who he was referring to, she understood why. A thin blonde man, she couldn't tell if he was young or old, stood standing on the front lawn of the house across the street, two doors down.

The house he stood in front of was dark, save for a dim light in an upstairs bedroom, from which came a flicker of movement.

The man did not move for a long while, apparently watching them as they stared in return, then slowly turned and entered the house.

Susan felt a twist of unease in her stomach.

"Huh," Gary grunted.

"That was strange," Susan said softly, then swallowed as her mouth had gone suddenly dry.

Gary shrugged, "Well, I guess he's as wary of us as we are of him. Understandable really."

"I guess..." Susan let it trail off. He didn't seem wary. Just very... focused. "The locks work, don't they Gary?"

He looked at her sideways, "I have to fix the front door deadbolt, but the rest of the locks are okay. What's got you so worried?"

"What do you think? Why was that man looking at us like that? Why didn't he come over and introduce himself? I remember the old couple who used to live there Gary, I never saw him before."

"Then he's a squatter Susan. The Hudson's probably died years ago. And I'm sure he didn't come over for the same reason we didn't go over there."

Staring out across the street, she caught the silhouette in the upstairs window again. It didn't look right.

"Just fix the lock Gary, okay?"

"Fine," he sighed, "I'll do that now." Turning away, he walked back to the kitchen.

As Susan watched, unable to pull her eyes from the silhouette in the upstairs window, the head of the figure moved in a sudden odd motion, snapping quickly to the side.

Susan jerked back, the motion startling her, and swiftly shut the door.

She was starting to feel as if they'd made a terrible mistake. Dread curled in her stomach like some sinuous beast, and she suddenly needed to know where her daughter was.

"Alex?" she called, and the house echoed it back to her dully. The beast in her belly started to wake up and stretch. "Alex!"

There was a laugh from the living room as Susan came down the hall, her heart starting to flutter in her chest. Her husband and daughter were working on the fire together, all smiles as they turned her way.

"Alex, why didn't you answer me?!"

Alex smile fell, "I'm sorry mom, I didn't hear you."

Susan snapped back at her daughter, her nerves making her angry, "Well next time, listen! And Gary, why aren't you working on the door?!"

Glancing at the window, she saw that the world had turned into a black wall against the glass. They needed to hurry, they needed to get out of here, they had to find better shelter. Her hands started to shake, and she held them together, twisting her fingers in her palms.

"Honey... hey..." Gary said as he walked up to her from the fireplace, "You're being jumpy for no reason."

"FIX THE DOOR!" she yelled, and her daughter jumped. Susan saw the motion and immediately felt bad, "I'm sorry sweetheart, I didn't mean to yell..."

"We were having a good time Susan," Gary muttered, swinging his hand wildly towards Alex, "There was no need-"

A sound from the front of the house stopped him mid-sentence, and she watched his face frown in confusion, as the beast in her belly started to claw at her gut. She wasn't even sure what she'd heard, a creak, the whine of a hinge? It didn't matter.

"Gary, where's the machete," she whispered.

He waved his hand down, motioning her to be quiet, and started to walk down the hall, pulling a flashlight from his back pocket.

Susan grabbed his arm, "Gary, wait!" she hissed.

"Mom, what's going on?" Alex asked, still holding a scrunched up wad of newspaper by the fireplace.

Susan put her finger to her mouth as she glanced at her daughter, then turned back to Gary, but he was gone.

The hallway was dark, but she could see his light flickering back and forth against the wall.

"Gary!" she hissed down the hall. He didn't answer.

There was a dull thump from around the corner, and the light darted wildly.

With her heart suddenly hammering in her chest, Susan started to back away from the hallway. That had sounded like someone falling. Dear god...

There was a small whisper from the darkness, and the light started flickering down the hall towards them.

"Gary?" she called, her voice strained and high pitched.

"...tripped... sorry," came the whisper thin reply.

"Oh, thank god," she sighed, relief flooding through her. He'd just fallen over, silly man.

She stepped out into the hallway, and the flashlight beam came right up into her face, blinding her.

"Gary, do you mind?" The beam didn't fall, and she raised a hand to block it, "What was that noise?"

"Just me..."

The voice that rose from behind the light was not her husband's. As she sucked in a breath to scream, the light darted away for a moment, then something slammed hard against the side of her head. The world blinked out as the floor rose violently to meet her.

From what felt like a great distance Susan heard a scream, and her eyes fluttered open as something warm trickled across her forehead.

"A..Alex," she whispered, and struggled to make her body move. Had to help... had to stop...

A form moved over her, and in the dim light of the lantern in the living room, she saw the thin man standing over her. His features wouldn't resolve properly, and she felt herself starting to slip away into the black world beyond the window.

But she had to know...

"...why?..." she whispered, as her eyes started to roll up.

The man leaned down to her, gathering her in his arms as she was swallowed by the void. The last thing she heard was his voice, deeper than his gaunt frame seemed able to give.

"We're...  _hungry._ "


	10. The Decision

Julie woke slowly, stirring against R's side, her mind heavy with sleep.

Someone was whispering.

_R?_

She opened her eyes. The cold ambient light of dawn was filling the room from the window over the bed, illuminating everything around them in a soft hazy blue.

"...who..."

Shifting slightly, she turned her head to stare up at him, and her heart fell as she realized what was happening.

_Not again._

Normally serene in sleep, R's face was twisted in a deep frown, and he shook his head slightly. Beneath his lids, his eyes moved as he tracked something in the dream. "...don' unerstan..."

R swallowed, and Julie heard fear in the sound, and felt the tremor of his heart under her fingertips. "...wha things?"

_Oh no._

"R..." she whispered, squeezing his arm.

It had no effect, just like every other time this had happened. Apparently, something had to play out before he could wake. God, she hated this. Being unable to pull him from these moments was crushing her.

Perhaps it would be different this time?

"...what..."

Feeling his body tense suddenly against her, Julie realized she needed to get away from him  _now_ , that something bad was happening, something physical. Quickly she pulled back and scooted off the bed, just as R released a terrified yell and started thrashing at the air.

Tears welled in her eyes as she watched him from the side of the bed, unable to stop what was so clearly terrifying him. Hurting him.

With a horrible gasp, his body arched off the bed and his jaw stretched wide as he screamed. The sound was so agonized she rushed to his side, leaning over the bed as she tried to hold him.

"Rowan! Wake up! It's just a dream!"

Gasping, he spoke again, the words slurred in sleep, his face twisted in pain, "...can't... help... you keep... killin me"

Julie's hand rose to her mouth. Was he dying in these dreams? Something kept killing him? Jesus... he didn't deserve this!

"R, please... just WAKE UP!" She cried, grasping his shoulders and shaking him hard.

"...where are you..." he whispered, then jerked and cried out again. As he folded over slightly, he coughed.

Blood flecked against his lips.

Julie's heart went cold. What the hell? Why was he bleeding?

"Nonono..."

Frantic, she jumped up and grabbed her comm from her pants, laid over the far chair.

"...say... find me... wake up..." R wheezed behind her as she clicked the button.

"Dad!" she yelled, "Dad, I need you!"

R made a strange sound, and she turned to look.

"R?" she said, her voice trembling.

The man she loved was rigid on the bed, his hands stretched wide, a look of utter shock on his face.

Her father's voice filled the room from the comm, "Julie?! What's going on?"

"Rowan?" Julie whispered, walking back to the bed.

R's body slowly relaxed against the sheets, but... he was terribly still. Why was he so still?

"R!" she screamed, dropping the comm as she rushed to his side, feeling for a pulse at his neck.

She couldn't find one.

"Oh god!"

Her father's voice became frantic, "Julie?! Do you copy? Answer me!"

Frantic, she groped for the comm, and screamed into it, "Dad, HELP! It's R!"

With a sudden shuddering gasp, R jerked up in bed in front of her.

The motion so shocked Julie she fell back, dropping the comm to the floor again.

R doubled over on the bed, desperately clutching his chest, his eyes wide and panicked. "Oh... god..." he whispered, his voice hoarse, as he stared down at himself. Coughing again, he pressed against his mouth, and his fingers came away tinged with blood.

"Oww..." he moaned, and gripped his side.

"I'm coming Julie! Hold on!" roared her dad through the tiny speaker on the discarded comm.

Julie stared at R as she felt around for the device and brought it up to her face, her hands shaking slightly. She clicked the button. "Dad... I'm okay, everything is... okay... I'm sorry."

R turned to look at her, wincing as he brought his hand up to wipe the blood from his mouth. "Why are you on the floor?" he asked, his eyebrows arching in confusion.

"What?! What's going on?" her dad shouted.

"Why are you bleeding?" Julie asked in a fragile voice.

R frowned. "Think I bit my tongue." He brought his hand to his mouth again, "Oww..."

She clicked the button again, "Dad, sorry for the call, I'm fine, everything's fine."

"You don't sound fine," her father replied.

Julie lowered her head on her knees and sighed. "I'm okay. Sorry Dad, false alarm. I'll call you later."

There was a long period of static, then he answered, his voice breathy and strained. "Fine. Over and out."

"Julie?"

She looked up at him. Intense blue eyes stared out at her from under a shaggy mess of dark brown hair. Shadows lay under his eyes, from pain, from lack of sleep, she wasn't sure, but combined with the bright blood smeared around his mouth, he almost looked as he had when she'd first met him.

Like a corpse.

"What happened?" he asked, and his face fell, "Jesus, I didn't hurt you again did I?"

Everything hit her all at once, too many mornings of this, seeing him suffer horribly from the dreams, and the attack, not understanding any of it and being unable to help. Julie started to shake her head, but curled over her knees instead and began to cry.

"Julie... oh no..." he said softly, and she heard him hiss sharply as he shifted from the bed.

Warm arms engulfed her, and he pulled her close as she sobbed.

"What did I do?" he whispered, stroking the back of her head gently.

"You didn't hurt me R..." she sobbed the words out, "I just... I can't handle this anymore..."

Brushing his lips against her forehead, he nodded. "I know." Then he let out a heavy sigh. "I'm so sorry Julie."

"You don't have to be sorry R, it's not your fault..." She pulled from him slightly, wiping a quick hand down her face, and looked him in the eye. "I just... I need to know what's going on. I need to know why this is happening... please?"

For a while he didn't say anything, just gazed at her, his blue eyes distant and a little sad. Then he nodded and slowly stood, grunting in pain as he held his side.

"Come with me?" he said, and reached out his hand. She was struck with how serious he was. "I have to show you something."

Julie shook her head with a smirk. "You're not lifting me with your side like that R." Sighing, she rose to her feet.

Together they stood in the middle of his room. She could feel the heat emanating from his bare skin, and stared up at him as he looked down at her. His eyes were pained.

"Why are you so sad?" she asked.

With a small smile, he shrugged. As she started to roll her eyes he leaned in and gave her a soft kiss. Then he pulled away to grab his clothes.

As she collected her own, pulling them on, she watched him. He was really struggling with his side, favoring it as he slowly pulled on his jeans, wincing as he drew the shirt over his head.

She didn't understand. How were they able to do what they did last night if he was still in pain? He hadn't acted hurt at all?

Jesus, what if they'd made it worse?

Turning, he must have caught her concerned look, because he tried to reassure her. "I'm fine, just a bit stiff."

"Riiight," she said, not believing him at all. "You should stay in bed."

"I don't want to be in bed anymore Julie, I'll just fall asleep." The expression on his face was haunted.

"And dream," she finished, understanding why.

He nodded. Grabbing a thick jacket from his cupboard, he shrugged into it with a grimace, and zipped it up. "You ready to go?"

Julie pulled on her own fleece, "Yeah, but where are we going?"

"My plane."

"Why?"

"Because," he answered with a smirk.

She rolled her eyes, "Oh my god, it drives me nuts when you do that!"

He grinned, "I know." Then he chuckled, and sucked in a quick breath, grabbing his ribs. "Ow.."

"R..." she said softly, "Maybe you should take a painkiller?"

He shook his head, "No, I'll be alright. They just make me sleepy."

"O-kaay," she sighed, and grabbed the keys from the top of his drawers. "I'm driving, but we're going to the market for some food first, you need to eat."

"Sounds good to me," he said with another sad smile, and followed her out the door.


	11. The Collection

Julie cut the engine and swiveled in her seat to face R. They were parked next to the metal stairs leading up to the 747, R's zombie bachelor pad, as she liked to call it, the plane he'd brought her to just after they met.

Granted, it had been under horrible circumstances, and was more of a kidnapping than a meeting, but still, she'd come to think of it as their first date. Which was absolutely weird, and a little creepy, she could admit.

R had been quiet the entire drive, and even now was looking off in the distance, across a tarmac littered with abandoned planes, dull under a thickly clouded sky. Not really focused on anything. She wondered what was going on in there.

"So..." she started, and smiled when he seemed to come back to himself, turning to her. His beautiful blue eyes were haunted, but he managed a small smile.

"Why are we here again, when you're supposed to be resting?"

"I'll tell you inside," R said quietly, and opened his door.

"Oh kaay," she sighed, frowning as she watched him pull himself out of the car. His color was terrible, and he was still holding his side, wincing as he lifted himself up. It was obvious the wound was really bothering him.

They shouldn't be doing this.

She climbed out of the car and started up the stairs, her footsteps clanging against the rusted metal. When was the last time they'd both been out here? Was it before the wall came down? That sounded right, but she knew that R had been out a few days ago.

Actually, now that she thought about it, that's when the nightmares started. Which was also weird. Had he stirred something up coming back?

She figured she was about to find out, so she stopped the questions rambling in her own head, and stepped up on the platform behind him.

"Can you get the door?" he asked.

Julie frowned, gazing up at his pale face, "It's really hurting isn't it?"

"I'll be okay."

"You keep saying that," she muttered, pulling the lever across. The door swung open, and she grimaced at the smell that washed over them.

R had the same reaction. "I tried to air it out a few days ago. So much for that."

"Oh... no, it smells better," Julie offered, not meaning it at all.

R smirked, "Uh huh. Sure."

Grinning back at him, she stepped inside. Almost immediately she could tell he'd been doing some heavy searching through his collection, piles had grown, shifted and collapsed with some items scattered haphazardly on the floor and seats, as if they'd been thrown.

"Sorry it's such a mess," he said quietly.

Julie wandered down the right aisle, towards the cart where the record player used to sit. There was just an empty space there now. She ran her hand across the strings of a puppet hanging nearby as she took in the rest of the plane. "Looks like you were looking for something."

He didn't answer, so she turned, just in time to catch the end of a noncommittal shrug. She would have bugged him about it in their usual routine, but he looked so haggard she just stared at him instead. His eyes left hers and fell to what he was holding.

A little brown bear.

"Aww," she said, smiling as she walked back to him. She pointed at it. "That's cute, where'd you get that?"

As she neared he held it out to her and dropped it into her hands. There was such a look of despair on his face she almost dropped the thing herself. Instead, she looked down at the little stuffed toy. It made her smile at first, she'd had one just like it when she was a kid. Her mom had given it to her in happier times, after a visit to a local zoo.

Julie's had been super soft. This one wasn't.

As she turned it over and over, she realized why, and the smile fell from her face.

The fur was stiff and spiky with dried blood.

"Oh..." she said very quietly. And that's all she could think to say. "...oh."

Julie slowly looked up at R. He was staring at the bear, and the despair had vanished from his face, leaving a blankness that gave her echoes of R when she'd first known him, as he'd stared down at her that first night. As if he'd retreated somewhere deep inside himself.

"You asked me once..." he said in a quiet voice, "about the stories here."

Swallowing, she nodded, "And you said-"

"Some of them aren't very nice," R finished, his voice barely above a whisper as his eyes rose to meet hers.

They were incredibly intense, and she knew he was about to share something very important. Something he needed her to hear.

Nodding very slightly, she looked down at the bear in her hands. Apparently it was a part of one of those not nice stories. R was finally going to open up to her about something he'd done. While she knew it was a good thing for him to do, she couldn't help but feel... apprehensive.

"What happened?" she finally asked, as he hadn't spoken.

He sighed. "I killed her."

Julie nodded slowly. "I figured somebody died. Who was she?"

"I don't know. She was young. I... tore her throat out... she died in my arms."

Julie blinked, shocked by his bluntness. "Oh."

She stared down at the bear, now desperately wanting it to be anywhere but in her hands.

"But I didn't..." he said, then paused, as if he wasn't sure how to continue.

"You didn't mean to? I know that," Julie said quickly, as she looked up at him, hoping to make him feel better.

Hoping to make herself feel better.

R shook his head, "No-"

"Right, and that's what's important to remember R, you didn't want-"

He reached out and grasped her arm, "Julie, I wasn't done, please let..."

The suddenness of his motion, in the midst of a story of a blood stained bear, unsettled her enough that she flinched from his touch. She regretted it immediately as R frowned deeply and pulled his hand back.

"I-I'm sorry, I... this was a bad idea," he said, and started to turn away, his arm rising to cradle his side again.

Julie reached out to him, catching his fingers. "No, Rowan, please," she squeezed his hand, "this is important."

She tried to prompt him to continue, "You didn't...?"

As he turned back to her, his eyes were sad. Pulling his hand gently from hers as she frowned up at him, he finally spoke, "I didn't...  _finish..._  her."

"Finish her?" she asked, confused.

The look on his face was tortured. "Eating... her." Slowly, he raised his hand, and lightly tapped his temple.

"Oh." Julie kept her face as neutral as she could, but inside her stomach was roiling.

"She was the first person... I killed. I'd... died a couple of days before, and was just... lost. Wandering. Found a park. Sat there with the dead things, a dying oak and a burnt out car. My brother had set up my iPod before I... turned. So I was listening to music, just sitting on a bench."

His voice grew quieter.

"I guess she didn't know why I didn't just attack her... she was curious," he shook his head, "It was just... so stupid. She didn't know. She sat down next to me. Talked to me. For a while it was okay, I was curious too, and the music... distracted me..." His voice trailed off as he looked at her, pained.

Julie looked down at the bear. Her head was filling in the blanks, filling it with herself as a little kid, holding the same bear, sitting on a park bench. Her gut twisted in knots.

"She wanted to see what was playing on the iPod," he started.

"Oh god," Julie whispered.

R's face fell, "But when she looked, I think the display used up the last of the battery, and the music... died."

Julie was starting to feel sick.

"She was leaning over, so close to me. Too close..." His eyes grew distant as he looked over her head toward the back of the plane, "All I could smell was her... life. That's one thing you have when you're dead. That scent, it's...  _everything..._  it's... intoxicating..."

His eyes fell to her, "It's what you exist to do... find that scent. Find life. And take it."

The look on his face sent a shiver up Julie's spine. He'd never talked about this with her before. He'd always hid it, covered it up, or danced around it if anything got too close. But now he was presenting it to her, raw and screaming, almost as if he was daring her to react. Pushing her. The look in his eyes was empty, his face expressionless. Like the dead. Was he doing that on purpose? God, she would be okay if he stopped.

"I... got... hungry," he said quietly. "Her throat was there... I... held her. She tried to get away... but it was too late. It was the first time I'd... I..."

R closed his eyes and sighed. When he opened them again, they were dark, and his mouth twisted bitterly, "I absolutely  _meant_ to Julie. I  _wanted_ to. At that moment, it was the only thing that meant anything, and when I did it, it meant _everything_. You have no idea."

"But I didn't finish... I didn't break her skull open, I didn't tear out her... thoughts... her memories..."

"R... please... stop," Julie whispered.

He didn't seem to hear her. "Because I was so new... And because I felt her die, I felt her... music stop... and there must have been something of  _me_ inside because I just let her go." His head tilted as he looked down, as if he was seeing it play out in front of him, and his eyes were pinched and wet, "She fell from me... and she was just... gone. Staring at nothing. Her neck was... I did that..."

Tears were falling from Julie's eyes.

R stared at the floor, wiping a hand across his face.

"I left her. I didn't want to see those eyes... empty when they'd been so... alive before. I wasn't... upset, I was too new to feel much of anything then, just... confused. I walked away, and it wasn't until later, when I was... hunting again... that I saw I was holding her bear."

His eyes rose to meet hers again, and his pain was palpable.

"I'd taken it from her body. Just like I took Perry's watch, Julie. Just like I took so many things."

He swept his hand out carelessly, encompassing the plane around them, the piles of stuff that cluttered the seats, the aisles, the overhead bins.

"You're surrounded by  _trophies_  Julie. Not everything here, but too many things here... taken from the dead. From people I killed. Do you know how many?"

"Stop it..." Julie whispered, her face wet with tears as she stared around the plane in growing horror. All of the things she'd picked up and played with when she was here, laughed over and marveled at... were artifacts of the dead. Remnants of lives extinguished in pain and fear.

Why was R doing this to her? She wanted desperately to run out of this tomb, her skin was crawling with his words, but she was trying so hard to be there for him, to show him she would always be. Why was he pushing this at her so hard?

"I have them in my head Julie... the memories of the people I killed." His voice fell to a sigh, "... _hundreds_ of them... I can't turn them off, I can't get rid of them."

"So many lives. I know what it's like to be an eighty year old man with Alzheimer's, and I know the pain his wife felt as she watched him fade from her, because I killed them both in their home." He walked over and brushed his fingers along the same puppet strings she had touched moments ago. "This was theirs... they bought it on their fiftieth wedding anniversary."

Julie gave a choked sob, "Rowan... no..."  _Too much. This was too much._

"I know what it's like to be a mother with three screaming kids married to a man who didn't give enough of a shit for most of their life. Thankfully he did when it was important, because at least I don't know what it's like to be her three screaming kids."

Reaching into a wooden tray next to the cart he pulled out a small glass figure. A unicorn, rearing on its hind legs, its horn dipped in gold. "She loved this. Carried it with her everywhere. It was the last birthday present from her dad. I was hunting, found her family in a supermarket. She led me away, to protect them... and I... took this from her pocket when I was done..."

Julie lifted her hand to her mouth, unable to take any more of these moments, these deaths he was giving her.

R turned back to her, and the sorrow in his eyes was unbearable. "Julie... I know what it's like to be a teenage boy falling in love with a beautiful teenage girl in the middle of a walled in city, surrounded by soldiers, watching the world fall apart."

Julie drew in a sharp breath. Perry. He was talking about Perry... no nono. "R... don't do this... please..."

Shaking his head, he walked towards her, "I know what its like to have so much hope inside, an unshakable belief that everything can get better, until the world shows time and time again that its just not true... to watch dad die a corpse at my feet... to give up completely, and just wait for the one mission where I can go off and meet death on my own terms... to meet that death realizing I'd lost the one thing that meant everything to me."

To hear Perry's words coming from R's mouth was horrifying. She shook her head, tears streaming from her eyes, and pulled back as he neared, "No..."

R grasped her arm gently. "You were the most important person in his life Julie. I killed him... I took his memories... that stupid watch..."

"Then I took you..." he said softly.

Anger, horror and hurt twisted through Julie and she suddenly lashed out at R, jerking her arm away from his grip as she swung with the other hand, slapping him hard against the cheek.

The sound was shocking, like the crack of a gunshot in the cramped confines of the plane, and she froze for a moment, her hand stinging, reeling from everything R had just said.

R stood motionless, no longer looking at her, a red mark growing against his pale skin where she had hit him.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled softly. "But I... you had to see..."

Julie glared at him, her eyes blurry with tears. "See what? That I'm just another thing you collected? How  _dare_ you!"

R winced and shook his head, "No, that's not what I meant-"

"Bullshit it isn't! How  _dare_ you say that to me!" she yelled. "You think I don't know what you're trying to do? You wanted to shock me Rowan? Show me what a monster you  _were?_  Well congratulations, it worked! Get the hell away from me!"

Julie turned to go. As he reached out to her, she flinched away.

"Don't touch me!" she cried, and stormed down the aisle. She couldn't bear to look at anything in the plane any more, everything had a story behind it, a gravemarker for another soul, another trophy for the dead. Was that really what she had been for him? Was that why they'd fallen in love? Why he'd taken her, because he was acting from Perry's memories?

Jesus, she couldn't handle that right now, she had to get out of here...

As she neared the door, her stomach twisted in knots. Was she really about to drive off and leave him?

She looked back, and R was still standing there, surrounded by the detritus of his old life. His collection.

_No... I am not a part of that! He didn't collect me!_

Julie reached for the lever, tears squeezing from her eyes, and pushed the door out into the cold winter air. Taking the steps two at a time, the metal stairs echoing loudly, she reached the tarmac, and jumped in the car.

As the engine roared to life, she broke down completely, her heart breaking as she slammed on the pedal and tore away from the plane.

* * *

_I was quite shocked when I wrote this chapter, as it went somewhere quite confronting for the two of them._ _I would be curious to hear what people thought._


	12. The Journey Begins

R stared at nothing, feeling numb. Shattered.

What the hell had he just done? Why the fuck did he say that to her? That hadn't been his plan. He'd come here to show her... let her see...

_That I was a monster._

He'd opened his mouth to talk about the girl, he had to explain what'd happened before he could tell her about the dream, but the words... they kept spilling from him, he couldn't stop, and it was suddenly about so much more... she had to see everything. Julie had to see...  _everything_.

He'd heard her beg him to stop, but he couldn't. She didn't understand. He was almost angry about that, angry that she couldn't SEE him for what he was. The last thing he'd said... it was one of his deepest fears about what they had, what they were... he'd ripped it out of himself and laid it bare in front of her. He would  _make_ her see...

As soon as he'd said it, the world fell out from under his feet. Her face... her eyes, already wet with tears... the shock he felt there... the horror... was worse than the pain he felt as she slapped him.

He'd hurt her so badly.

_Jesus. What have I done?_

Then he heard it, the sound of screeching tires, the roar of the convertible fading in the distance.

Julie had left him.

Pain flared wickedly within him and he groaned, grabbing a nearby seat with a pale hand. Some of it was his ribs, most of it was his heart. Like someone had just ripped it in two. Closing his eyes tightly, he tried to ride it out, his fingers digging into the thick vinyl of the seat.

Julie had left him.

How could he have been so fucking stupid? So cruel? What the hell was wrong with him?

Brandon's words played through his mind. That he needed to talk to someone. Share what he'd done with someone, that he couldn't keep it bottled up inside.

Well, he'd just let it out on Julie, and she'd... left him.

R opened his eyes and stared around the plane. Everything his gaze fell on whispered to him in someone else's voice, stirring a long forgotten ghost in his mind.

"Shut up," he whispered.

It hadn't been this bad the last time he'd been here, at least, not at first. Yes, everything he touched had a story, sometimes a stolen memory, but he'd been able to handle it, keep himself separate.

But then he'd found that damn bear. He'd been looking for anything he could trade for a ring for Julie, that's why he'd come back to the plane. So he'd delved into some old piles, hoping for a little treasure that would be worth something to the few sellers in the city market.

And he'd pulled out the bear.

And fallen into the story. The oldest one. His first kill. It'd played in his mind like a silent movie, he'd seen her big brown eyes, her smile, her laugh, and her fear. Her death.

Something inside had just clicked on, and that night he'd had the first nightmare.

R looked down. The bear lay where Julie had dropped it as she'd turned to go. Its fur was spiky and dark, stiff with old dried blood, and it looked up at him with shiny black eyes.

With a pained grunt, he bent down to pick it up. His mind flashed back to when he'd first held it, when red blood had soaked the grey skin of his hands.

In the dull overcast light leaking through the round windows of the plane, his hands looked just as grey.

He felt cold and numb.

Perhaps he was changing back. Perhaps Julie had been wrong, and the thin man had been right. Perhaps it was time to go back to the beginning?

As he looked down at the toy in his hands, the girl's voice echoed in his head.

_Find me._

_Okay._

Grasping the bear tightly, R walked slowly to the door of the plane, still open to the grey world outside. Small white flakes had started to fall in lazy spirals against the dark shape of the terminal, drifting down to the grey tarmac. Stepping out into the chill air, he walked down the rusting steps and took a moment to dig back through his memories, to remember where he'd gone that day he'd wandered to the park.

His mind slid easily into the old groove. Everything had been much simpler then, he was so new. Music surrounded him, his mind was still, his body had led the way.

R relaxed into that stillness and began to walk in his old footsteps, his head hanging heavy, the world growing quieter around him as the snow began to build.

_I'm coming._


	13. The Taken

Susan started to stir, frowning as she slowly drifted up from the darkness. Her throat was sore, her head... was pounding, and she was resting against something hard, and cold.

She opened her eyes, but it made no difference to what she could see. Everything was dark. There was a terrible smell. Confusion filled her. Where was she? Where was Gary?

"Gary?" Her voice was a dry painful whisper, and amplified the pulsing ache at her temple.

Groaning slightly, she tried to move, but something was wrong with her arms... she couldn't feel them properly, were they over her head?

"Mom!" came her daughter's voice in the darkness, frantic with terror.

With icy clarity, everything came back to her. They'd gone home, there'd been a man across the street, a noise and...

_Oh my god._

"Alex!" she cried out, and struggled to get to where she'd heard her daughter, but her legs wouldn't cooperate. She didn't understand why until she realized she could feel something wrapped tightly around them, and as she shifted her arms and the blood started to flow, she realized her arms were bound as well.

"Oh god," she cried, horror filling her. The man who'd broken into their home - he'd taken them!

"Alex," she called out to her daughter, "Did he hurt you? Are you okay?"

Her daughter was crying, her voice breaking through sobs, "I'm okay mom... but I can't move, he tied me up."

"Oh sweetheart..." Tears threatened to take her voice, but she pushed them back and tried to think. They had to find a way to get out of here. Wherever here was... Where was Gary? What had happened to him?

"Is Dad here Alex?"

"No, I don't think so. I could hear you breathing, I couldn't hear anything else."

Oh god... where was he? Maybe he'd been left behind? Maybe he was trying to find them?

_Maybe he's dead._

Shaking her head at the little voice, Susan tried to feel for the rope around her arms. Wiggling her fingers and wrists brought the ache of pins and needles, but sensation slowly returned and she groped her way from the rope up to a large ring in the wall. The discovery left her cold.

_We're not the first..._

The smell she'd noticed when she'd come to returned in strength as she focused on it. The smell of human waste. Other people had been brought here... tied here... and left here for a long time.

"Oh god..." she whispered, and immediately regretted it as her daughter cried out in a panic.

"What? Mom? What?!"

"Alex... try and stay calm okay? We're going to get out of this... somehow... but I need you to stay as calm as you can." She felt like the greatest hypocrite, because she was anything but calm. This man... was a psycho. This man was probably a serial killer. Her heart pounded hard in her chest. What had he done to Gary?

What was he going to do to them?

From somewhere above them came the groan of wood bending under pressure, again and again, and Susan realized someone was walking across the floor above their heads.

"I think he's coming back mom!" Alex cried.

"Try to keep calm sweetheart, like I said," Susan said, and wrestled again with the ropes above her head. They had to get out of here. There was no other option. She had to get free, and free her daughter, and find Gary. Then they'd go back to the city and stay where it was safe. Gary couldn't say no after this, he just couldn't.

_If we get free._

Susan stopped moving as a door creaked somewhere, and light spilled into the room in a growing wedge. Alex was caught in the light, and Susan gave a small choked sob as she saw how terrified her girl was, bound up against the wall, tears streaking down her face as she stared up at the person Susan could hear descending the stairs.

"Who are you?! What do you want?!" Susan yelled, her heart hammering wildly.

The man finally stepped off the stairs, and she saw him, standing to her right, lit from behind. It was the young man from across the street. She'd been wrong about his hair, it wasn't blonde, but bone white, laying in a shaggy mess on his head. He stood tall and terribly gaunt in the dark space.

As he turned her way, she sucked in a sharp breath. His eyes... caught in that yellow light... they weren't normal. She couldn't see any color to them at all.

"What do you want?" she whispered, now wishing he would turn away, focus on something else besides her, anything else.

The man walked towards her, and she pulled back, squeezing herself against the wall as closely as she could. Dear lord... his eyes weren't  _right_. Pale, like a corpse, like the first one she'd seen before they'd run to the city... but this man... he looked alive. Thin, but alive.

"Who are you?" she asked again, but he said nothing.

His hands moved towards her and she cried out, flinching back against the wall. Then she realized he was holding something. A cup. Something sloshed over the side, something clear.

"It's water," he whispered over her, and she almost choked. His breath was horrifying.

Oh god... maybe he  _was_ dead. Shaking her head, she quickly looked away, wanting nothing from him. From whatever he was.

Without warning, his hand clamped over her nose, and she opened her mouth in surprise, trying to jerk away from him. The cup was thrust hard against her mouth, and water came gushing down her throat, some falling down her windpipe. He let her go then, stepping away as she coughed violently to clear her lungs.

Hearing Alex whimper, Susan looked up to see the man approaching her daughter.

"Leave her alone!" she screamed, wrestling against the ropes. "Don't you dare go near her!" Her words turned to wet coughs as she struggled.

The man said nothing, and she heard her daughter choke as he forced her to drink as well. Then he turned away and walked towards the stairs.

Desperate for answers, Susan called out to him, "Where's my husband!? Where's Gary?"

He stopped. Those cold eyes fell on her and he frowned.

"The man?" he asked.

"Yes, yes, please..." she begged, "Tell me where he is. Please."

"With my sister," he answered, and pointed upstairs. "She was... hungry."

Susan blinked, not comprehending, "With your... what?"

"She doesn't usually leave anything for me though, so I'll be back soon."

Susan froze, her eyes growing wide in horror. "Anything?" she whispered, her mouth desert dry.

"Of your husband. Rachel doesn't like to share."

"Oh.. oh.. oh god," Susan started to babble as her heart squeezed with the realization of what he'd just said. "God no nonono..."

As she started to scream, no longer able to hide her fear and despair from her daughter, Susan's mind stuttered over what she'd heard him say before he returned upstairs.

_I'll be back soon._


	14. The Storm

The car's tires slid against the growing blanket of snow on the tarmac as Julie hit the brakes hard, coming to a sliding stop by the plane. Snow blew around her wildly, thick flakes that deadened the sound of her footsteps as she rushed out and up the stairs. Her heart was pounding with worry. She never should have left him here, no matter how much she'd been hurt by what he'd said.

She'd actually gone as far as the old wall line of the city before she'd turned around, unable to handle the fact that she'd just left R behind, and worried about the worsening snow. It was building to something fierce, and she was worried they might not be able to drive in it much longer.

Julie hesitated at the open doorway. Something felt wrong. Not just the lingering hurt from their fight, but something about the plane, the door yawning open, the snow drifting over the grey carpet inside.

It felt... empty. Abandoned.

"Rowan?" she said, her voice sounding strange in the enclosed space as she leaned in. "I'm sorry I left... I just... the storm's getting really bad, we need to..."

The cabin was empty.

"R?" she asked, and stepped in, then poked her head into the cockpit. It was empty, lit with a dim, even light from the layer of snow covering the windows. She could hear the wind whistling past the cracks in the seals.

Turning around, she stared at the back of the plane, then quickly moved down the aisle, checking each bathroom along the way.

He wasn't here.

_Oh god._

With rising panic, Julie rushed back to the open door, and the snow blew into her face, her hair, as she stared out over the tarmac to the terminal. It was hard to make out the shape of the building in the driving snow, but she couldn't see anyone moving out there. The only footsteps on the tarmac were hers.

"R!" she yelled, and her voice seemed to stop dead against the wall of shifting white surrounding her.

She heard nothing in return but her own breath and the wind buffeting against her eardrums.

_Oh my god. I never should have left him..._

Dread swamped her. Where the hell was he? Why would he leave the plane? Jesus, was he trying to walk back? Her mind pictured him stumbling through the whitewash out there, getting lost... getting hurt.

_No... stop thinking that, that doesn't help!_

How the hell was she going to find him? She turned back to the plane, looking for some clue that might help her understand what he'd been thinking... why he'd wandered into a storm...

The remnants of the dead surrounded her. R had called them trophies. It was a cruel word, and she knew in her heart that he'd used it to shock her. No matter what he said, she knew he hadn't taken these things from people he'd killed out of pride or a need to show off. She felt - believed - that he'd done it as a way to connect to his own humanity. To what he'd lost.

Even from the beginning, he'd been so different.

Julie froze.

From the beginning...

The bear.

He'd given it to her, before he told the story. The first story, of the girl. His first... kill.

She'd been holding it, then he said those terrible things, and then wouldn't stop... and then said the worst thing...

And she'd dropped it as she'd run out.

Julie scanned the floor, then the piles nearby, then searched the plane.

The bear was gone.

He must have taken it with him. Julie stared down at her hands, trying to remember what he'd said while she'd held it.

Something about a park... he'd killed some poor girl in a park he'd wandered to from the airport.

She looked towards the open door. Where was it though? Which direction?

Julie's heart sank. She had no idea. She might start off in one direction and it could be completely wrong. And meanwhile R would be freezing his ass off...

Or worse... she had to find him.

Wait, if she had a map... did R hoard maps? Julie spun in place, then darted through a few piles of books and magazines randomly scattered about the cabin.

Time ticked by and she gave up. This was pointless. The storm was getting worse and colder by the minute. She was just going to have to go out there and try her best. Hopefully the car would hold up in the thick stuff.

Julie rushed back to the door and stared out at the world of white surrounding the place. The car was already covered in a blanket of snow, and she had serious doubts she was going to be able to drive in it for much longer.

But she had to try.

Pulling her jacket tightly around herself, she ran down the stairs and took a last look out across the tarmac.

There was a car coming, something big, a dark shape against the snow, moving quickly. As it neared she realized it was one of the patrol cars her dad used as a mobile base on raids.

She waved her arms as it neared, and it pulled to a quick stop beside her.

As she saw who was driving, she felt a terrible twist of guilt in her gut. It was Mark, Rowan's dad.

He looked out at her, rugged up in thick winter gear. As his brown eyes caught hers, she could see the worry in them, even though his smile was big and warm.

"Hey, thought I might find you out here," he said, and glanced at the convertible. "This storm's getting pretty fierce, I wouldn't recommend driving the convertible."

Julie shook her head, following his gaze, "No..."

"I'll get you both back home," he added, then peeked up at the 747, "Rowan in the plane?"

Her heart sank. "Mark... I don't know where he is."

Mark blinked. "What?"

Julie felt the panic rise again, bringing with it a well of tears. As the snow whirled around her, she tried to hold it in, "We had a fight, I left, came back, and he was gone."

"What?!" Mark stammered, "Where'd he go?!"

"I don't know, I mean, I have an idea, but I don't know where it is," she started to shiver and hugged her jacket close.

"Get in, tell me what's going on," Mark said, leaning over to open the passenger door.

She rushed around the front of the car and climbed in, shaking the snow off herself before thrusting her hands at the heaters. "I never meant for this to happen... I was angry and really hurt. I had no idea he'd just leave."

Mark sighed. "He's been having a hard time dealing with stuff Julie. It wasn't your fault. Just tell me where you think he is."

Julie's throat closed up as the tears threatened again, "He talked about a park. He told me he'd walked to it from the airport, just after he'd turned. He... killed a girl there..."

Mark looked surprised. "He told you that?"

She nodded, "Do you know where the park is?"

He shook his head. "There are a bunch of parks around here Julie, it'd take time to check each one - did he say anything else?"

Something had struck her very vividly about what he'd said... something about dead things. Sitting with dead things.

"He said something about a burnt tree and a car? Or was it the car that was burnt? Something like that?"

Mark frowned, and shrugged. "Doesn't really help, though I guess we'll know it when we see it." He put the car into gear and they pulled away from the plane as the snow whirled wildly around them. "How long has he been out there?"

She swallowed. How long had it been? "God... I'm not sure. When I left, he was here, but that was almost two hours ago now. I have no idea when he left the plane."

"Goddammit..." Mark scowled as he steered the car to the airport exit. "That's a long time to be out in this crap. We need to find him soon."

Julie stared out the window as they drove over the tarmac, desperately searching for any sign of life through the blowing snow.

_We're coming R... please be okay..._

* * *

_The story is about to turn quite dark. Well, darker, as the last chapter wasn't exactly bright and chirpy. One of the most confronting characters I've ever written is about to show up, and we're going to spend some time in their head. It's not a nice place, though perhaps not as horrible as I'm hinting at here. I had some real issues writing from their perspective though..._


	15. The Journey Ends

The world was a maelstrom of ever shifting, cascading white. The road had long since disappeared under a blanket of snow, growing thicker as R walked ever forward, his head down, his eyes focused on the few feet of white that stretched before him.

Icy water, the snow melted by his skin, slithered under his jacket and down his spine, passing under his wet clothes. His hands were balled in his jacket pockets, numb, and his dark hair hung over his brow in wet clumps.

He couldn't feel his feet anymore, they'd turned into what felt like blocks of ice a while ago. How long ago, he had no idea, he was having trouble keeping track of the passing of time. His legs were going the same way, since all he'd put on this morning was a pair of jeans.

God, he was cold.

This was one of the stupidest things he'd ever done.

A violent shiver gripped him, and his teeth chattered as he rode it out. His side murmured weakly, the pain neutered by the chill. If anything, his ears hurt the most, stinging brightly with every gust of wind.

What was he doing? What was his plan? Walk to the park? Then what?

_Find her._

He pulled what felt like a stump out of his right pocket and stared down at the bear, held by fingers he couldn't feel anymore. It stared back up at him, its brown fur slowly speckling in white flakes.

What was he supposed to do when he found her? She'd said something to him... about stopping... something... but... he was having trouble remembering what she'd said.

Didn't matter. He just had to find the park. Find her.

Another deep tremor shook his body and he cursed. Stupid idiot, walking out into a storm. Julie was going to be pissed.

_Julie..._

His heart squeezed.  _Shit._

R frowned deeply, tucked the bear back into his pocket, and settled back into himself, trying not to feel. Not think. It had worked really well for a while, until the cold became everything he could think about.

He had to get out of this storm... but he was close to the park now. Just a little longer...

The wind whipped around him, cutting through the wet denim of his jeans, as he pushed on, passing cars disappearing under mounds of snow, trees and buildings plastered in white.

The shivers hit him hard again, and he stumbled awkwardly, barely catching himself with an outstretched hand against a snow laden wall. The ice cut through the numbness of his fingers like a knife, and he winced, quickly shoving his hand back into his pocket.

Fear danced around the edge of his mind.

_I am in serious trouble... I have to find shelter._

But he was so close, he could  _feel_ it. The park was just a little further.

_Find me._

He nodded stiffly to the echo in his head and another rivulet of icy snow melt snuck under his jacket, sending him trembling again.

"Comin'..." he answered, through a jaw clenched tight against the shivers.

There was a rumbling sound from far off, and he had to think carefully before he realized what it was... a car? Someone out driving? The sound was hard to locate though, and slowly faded away, and R began to doubt he'd heard it in the first place. Didn't matter. He just had to find the park.

The world whirled around him as he walked on, and slowly his mind fell back into the quiet place again as his body became a stiff shell.

Finally, after time that he could not count or track, passed, R stopped.

His head rose.

The park spread out before him, across a small stretch of white.

He'd found it.

The brown grass was buried, and a mound of white marked where the burnt out car lay, wedged up against the old oak, stripped of leaves, plastered in snow. Shifting sheets of white sank from the sky, swirling around him with each gust of wind.

On the outside edge of the park sat the bench, draped in a thick blanket of icy crystals.

_I'm here._

R shuffled ahead, almost falling again as his body moved forward before his limbs had decided to do so. He stumbled, but righted himself, and moved slowly to the bench.

He was here. Finally.

It was... strange to be back.

His eyes fell to the ground where the girl he had killed had fallen, so many years ago.

"m'here," he mumbled, and fought to bring the bear out of his pocket. His arm felt like it belonged to someone else, but he finally yanked it free with a wild swing.

The sudden motion threw him off balance and he fell back, landing on the bench, and sank into the deep layer of snow covering it. It was like falling into a pillow, and while the ice seeped through his jeans, the cold had lost its bite.

_Shit._

R looked down at his hands, laying next to him on the bench, sunk in the snow, his right still gripping the bear. He had to move them to get up. He really needed to get up, because staying here was a bad idea.

His hands didn't move.

The fear came again, rising up through his chest.  _Get up get up get up!_

Right. He steeled himself for it, and stared out over the white wasteland of the park.

Was the dead driver still there? He couldn't see very well through the dizzying white around him, but there looked to be a lump of snow near the window. Perhaps that was her. Or him. Them. Whatever.

_Get up!_

R's heart stuttered suddenly.  _Jesus... what the fuck am I doing? I have to get out of this snow!_

Slowly, he leaned forward. More ice slipped under his jacket, skating down over his shoulders. The sensation was so uncomfortable, he fell back again into the soft pillow of white.

Time passed.

Snow was falling on his face. He blinked against the flakes landing in his eyes, and wondered why the snow was falling sideways. Then he realized he was staring up at the sky. Why had he put his head back? What the hell?

With difficulty, he lifted his head from the bench and stared ahead into the park.

He frowned.

_Who's that?_

Someone was standing in front of the burnt out car, barely visible through the swirling curtain of white, wearing something bright.

The girl. In her pink jacket. She was walking to him.

He'd found her!

A smile broke through his numb face, as he sat there, watching her approach.

"foun' you," he said quietly, his mouth refusing to form the words properly.

As she neared, she shook her head, her eyes wide with worry. "No you didn't."

What was she talking about? "... but... y'here," he said, trying to lean forward on the bench. Nothing happened.

The girl shook her head again. "No, I'm not."

Then it struck him. Another dream.

"You're not dreaming," she whispered softly, and stopped in front of him. "You have to get up Rowan."

He frowned at her, "how... know m'name?"

"I'm in your head, how do you think." She smiled sadly at him. "You have to get up, or you're going to die. You're hallucinating from the cold."

R blinked, and she flickered briefly, like a sheet fluttering in the wind.

A dull dread settled over him, and he looked around himself. He was sitting, in wet clothes, in snow, in the middle of a blowing storm.

He was exhausted.

"Get up Rowan. Now."

The girl was still there, still talking.

"Where..." He tried to finish speaking but no more words came out.

She pointed over his shoulder. "That way, a blue house, a red letterbox. Get  _up_ Rowan."

R mustered every ounce of energy he had left and pushed himself forward. Somehow his creaking body rose, and he teetered for a moment on legs that felt like thick logs of wood.

The girl was walking around the bench, gesturing at him to follow. "This way. You have to hurry, or he'll hurt them."

R wanted to ask what she meant, but no words would move to his mouth. He shuffled after her instead, his movements stiff and slow.

"Hurry Rowan," she cried, her auburn hair swinging about her face as she turned to run down the road. "You have to keep moving!"

R tried to keep up, but his body wasn't working right, and she slowly pulled away, eventually disappearing around the corner in the sea of white.

R stumbled, but managed to keep his feet, and staggered down the road where she had gone. His eyes were blurry and wouldn't focus, and he couldn't see letterboxes or house colors, or his own hands in front of his face. His body had stopped meaning anything to him, and all he felt was his consciousness floating in the white.

The snow rose up to meet him suddenly as his feet tangled up in themselves and his body pitched forward. He landed softly, the thick blanket of white on the ground breaking his fall.

Ice enveloped his face as he lay there, not understanding what had happened.

_Can't see._

With supernatural effort, he pushed himself up enough to lift his head, and tried to get his feet under his body. In moments, his legs gave way and he toppled forward again, rolling on his back with his arms open to the sky.

The snow embraced him like the softest bed, and he stared up at the wildly shifting blur of grey above him, his ears picking up the rush of the wind and the soft patter of snow around his face.

It was so comfortable here, it had to be okay to rest for just a little while.

Something tugged at his mind, the faintest echo of an urgency, but the thought dissipated into nothing as the snow continued to fall.

And fall.


	16. The Bounty

Evan cursed loudly as he stared out into the storm. He'd left his stupid axe by the woodpile in the park yesterday, after seeing the family drive by as he'd walked home with an armful of wood. He'd been so excited about the newcomers he'd forgotten to go back.

And now he was going to have to go out in the snow to get it.

_Dammit._

Did he have anything else that would do the job, so he wouldn't have to go out in that crap? Thinking through some options, he shook his head. Not as easily. Cutting bone was hard, took forever and dulled his nicer knives, which wasn't an option. There was no getting around it.

With a heavy sigh, he shouldered on a thick shell jacket, a hat, some gloves, and stepped into his rugged boots. With his hand on the door handle, he hesitated for a moment, listening to the house. Listening for his sister, and the two in the basement. The two below were quiet now, what a relief. Gagging them wasn't something he'd enjoyed doing, but the older woman wouldn't stop screaming, and it'd really grated on his nerves.

His sister was calm. That was good. The food had made her happy. It had been a long time between meals this time and she'd been starting to fade.

And now they had enough food to last for a good month.

Pushing the handle down, he shouldered the door open against the wind, and stepped into the storm. It was early afternoon, but didn't feel like it, the sky and earth were meeting in a whirling mass of white, and the sun had completely disappeared behind thick grey clouds.

As he started walking down the road something caught his eye. A dark shape, under a layer of snow, just off the sidewalk on the street.

Frowning, he walked near, and his heart jumped as he realized what it was.

A body.

Evan smiled. He wasn't sure what entity he'd pleased lately, but the bounty sent his way these past two days was incredible. He and his sister were going to be eating well for a long while.

The elation passed as questions flickered uneasily through his mind. How'd the person get here? Why were they here? Were they related to the family he'd taken?

Frowning again, he leaned over the corpse and brushed the snow from its face.

It was a man, young. Very tall. Dark hair. His skin was pearly white and his eyes were half open and blank. No hat, no gloves. What a dumbass.

Evan straightened up. The guy didn't look like the family he had in the basement. Might just be a coincidence.

With a small shrug, he started off again for the park. The guy would keep. Natural refrigeration was a great thing.

His axe was where he'd left it, laying up against the stump he used for chopping wood. Grabbing a few more logs, he hefted the axe over his shoulder and walked back up the street as the wind picked up again, lashing his skin with ice.

A new layer of snow had already replaced what he'd swept from the man's face. He pondered dropping the wood off and coming back, but really didn't want to make two trips in this shit. Hooking the axe under the corpse's arm, he gave an experimental tug and was happy to find the body moved pretty easily. Though it was much lighter than he'd hoped. The guy must be thin under that jacket.

_Damn._

Making his way slowly to the front lawn of his home, Evan dragged the body around the side, tossing the wood under his arm onto the pile in the shed where it clattered noisily as it settled.

It'd probably be best to leave the body out here. Try to make the best use of the temperature possible. Although...

Evan was hungry, and this guy was already dead. Less hassle than taking the woman now, which is what he had planned. He could even bring back some more of their food for them, keep them going for a while.

Decision made, Evan pulled the corpse into the light spilling from the back porch and readied his axe.

The man lay beneath him, snow piled up around his head, dull eyes peeking out from lowered lids. Evan's gaze fell to the arm he was about to take inside.

The arm was holding something.

Frowning, Evan propped the axe up against the door, and crouched over the corpse.

Whatever the guy was holding, it was dark, and scrunched up in the man's fingers. Evan tried to pull them apart. They were stiff, but eventually yielded, and he yanked the thing free.

It took a moment to realize what he was staring at, and another moment for his heart to resume beating.

"How..." he whispered, his breath a white cloud in the air.

It was his sister's bear. The bear he'd given her, the day she'd... changed. The bear that was gone when he'd... found her.

Evan glared down at the frozen man.

"Where'd you get this?" he snapped, shaking the bear at the corpse, anger rising in him like a tide. Standing, he kicked the body hard, "Huh?!"

How was this possible? How'd the guy get the bear? Where had he come from?

Why the hell was he here?

"I don't understand," he cried, and grabbed the man by his frozen jacket. "Why would you..." Then his voice trailed off, because the he knew the guy wouldn't be answering him anytime soon, what with being dead and all.

Evan frowned.

Wait. Maybe he wasn't. Evan had heard about stuff like this, about people slipping into a death-like state in the cold... maybe...

It was too cold out here to check. Propping the door open with his axe, Evan hooked his arms under the man's shoulders and pulled the stiff body inside. He dragged it into the living room, and quickly peeled off his gloves.

Snow started to melt from the man's jacket and hair, pooling on the floor, as Evan pressed his fingers against the man's neck. The skin was cold, unyielding, and Evan couldn't feel anything against his finger. Moving quickly, he wrestled with the zip on the guy's jacket and pulled it down, spreading the stiff fabric open. It was completely soaked. Underneath was a blue t-shirt, also wet through.

He shook his head. What an idiot. Who goes out in a storm wearing shit like that?

Evan pulled the shirt up and rested his ear against the man's skin, over his heart. It was like resting against an ice cube.

He waited. Everything slowed down in the cold, he knew that. If he was patient enough perhaps...

_thump_

Evan jerked up with a grin. A heartbeat! He listened again, to make sure he hadn't imagined it.

After an unnatural length of time, it came again, terribly faint, but  _there_.

Evan rested back on his legs and stared down at the man, his mind racing. The body in front of him was white as bone, arms outstretched and utterly still. Water dripped from the melting snow in the guy's hands into the growing puddles on the wooden floor. The man's eyes were dilated and empty.

It was uncanny, he looked dead, but the guy was stubbornly holding onto life.

_Amazing._

Evan had to bring the guy back... he needed to know why the man had Rachel's bear. But he had to do it carefully. They were right in front of the fireplace, and he had to fight his first instinct to start a blazing fire. Too much heat would probably do more harm than good. It had to be just right, and it had to be even heat. He had to get the guy dry too.

Getting to his feet, he raced upstairs and raided the closet in the master bedroom, apologizing for the intrusion before pulling out every blanket, comforter and sheet he could find.

Resting under a bundle of sheets was an electric blanket.

_Perfect._

Snatching towels from the bathroom, he ran back down, and slowed when he reached the living room. The man hadn't moved of course, but it was eerie, how absolutely still he was. How corpselike.

Acting quickly, he set up the blankets and sheets in layers on the couch, then hooked the electric blanket up, plugging the cord into the supply from the generator, which was snaked throughout the house.

Returning to the man, he tried to strip off the soaked jacket, but the guy's arms were too stiff to bend easily.

"Dammit," he muttered, and rose, heading into the kitchen. Returning with scissors, he cut through every layer of clothing the man was wearing, some of which was frozen solid together, and pried it all off of his body.

The man had some strange bruising that made Evan pause for a moment, curious. Some kind of bad hit on the side of his chest. Another on his leg. What was the story behind that?

Finally, he dried the guy with the towel and lifted him onto the couch, then wrapped him around the torso with the electric blanket, switching it on to its highest setting before covering him with everything else.

Evan sat back, and looked at the man's face, swaddled with blankets, still terribly pale. Lifeless. If he pulled through this it would be a miracle. It was an amazing stroke of luck already that Evan had left his axe in the park and gone out. If the guy had that kind of luck on his side, perhaps he'd pull through after all.

Strange. Evan had killed plenty of people over the years, too many to count. This was only the second time he'd ever taken care of someone. His sister... and this man.

How were they linked? It scratched at his brain, how this man could show up, holding something of his sister's, from that terrible day...

Something shuddered inside him.

Right now was not the time to think about that.

The images cascaded behind his eyes anyway, and he cringed, holding his head.  _Not now... I don't want to see this now!_

God, his sister... her throat... she was just lying there... in the grass...

"STOP IT!" he yelled, and the sound reverberated through the house. Something answered from upstairs, a keening wail, like the wind screaming through the cracks of a old house.

"I'm sorry, I'm coming," he whispered, and took one more glance at the frozen man before heading upstairs.

_You better live, dammit._

* * *

_Sorry for the wait on this one._ _The above btw, is not the confronting chapter I was referring to. That comes a little later. Still, being in this guy's head is not something I really enjoy. He's a creepy dude, and only gets creepier. %)_


	17. The Search

Julie was distraught. They still hadn't found him, and they'd been driving around for hours now, hitting every park they could find, checking the occasional promising shelter along the way.

She'd been staring out the foggy window of the patrol car the entire time, scanning desperately for any sign of life, occasionally running out when they'd spotted something that looked like a possible shelter. The storm was still going strong, making seeing movement in the shifting wall of white almost impossible.

"What was he wearing Julie?" Mark asked, and she could hear the fear in the question.

"Not enough," she said, dread lodged firmly in her chest. "Jacket, jeans, sneakers."

"No hat? Gloves?"

Julie shook her head.

"Christ," Mark muttered. "What the hell were you thinking, son?"

"It's my fault," Julie whispered, and her throat closed tightly around the words. "I never should have left him alone."

Mark reached out and took her hand, squeezing it gently. "You didn't know he'd do something like this. Don't blame yourself."

Julie shook her head, not accepting what he said. It  _was_ her fault. She should never have left him in the plane, alone. Not after everything that had happened to him, no matter what he'd said. Never. The pain in her chest was a solid mass, tight around her heart, and she was starting to feel like it would never go away.

"Hey, look there," Mark said suddenly, pointing out the windscreen. Julie followed his gesture, and her eyes caught the ghostly outline of snow laden trees at the end of the street.

"We haven't tried this one yet?" she asked. They'd been to so many, they were starting to run together and all look the same. The deep, growing blanket of snow was making everything that much harder.

Mark shook his head, "No, I don't think so... look!"

They pulled up to the curb, and to their right stretched a park. In the middle stood a big tree, leaning to the left, supporting a large mound of white snow. A bench was right outside Julie's door and she glanced at it.

And froze.

With frantic speed, she jumped out of the car and ran around to the front of the bench. The chill in the air took her breath for a moment, and the whirlwind of flakes made the skin of her face sting.

"I think this is the park!" she yelled, "I think he was here!"

Mark came out to join her, and stared out towards the middle of the park. "That has to be the tree and the car he was talking about, right?"

"Yeah, and look at this," Julie said, and pointed at the bench.

Something had disturbed the snow, though it had been filled with new snow that must have fallen since. But there was definitely the outline of a person, as if someone had sat there.

"Jesus, why was he sitting in the snow?!" Mark yelled, and turned rapidly in place, scanning the land and houses around them through the storm. "Goddammit! This is old, where is he?!"

He started calling for his son as Julie stood still by the bench, tears falling as she pictured R sitting there, deep in snow.

He'd been here. Sitting in the middle of the storm. Alone.

Why? What was he looking for? Forgiveness? Release?

_R... I'm so sorry..._

"Julie, I need you to check the houses down the street on that side okay? I'm going to check over here."

She nodded quietly, still staring at the bench.

Mark's voice wavered, "Look for anything. Anything. You see a shape in the snow that doesn't look right, check it out alright?"

Julie turned to him, her eyes wide. "You think he's..."

He shook his head emphatically, and it was odd how much the movement reminded her of R. "No Julie, I don't think that... I don't want to think that, but he's been out here too long. Just... keep your eyes open, okay?"

She nodded, and her heart thudded madly against her chest, sending painful pulses to her chilled limbs.

_Dear god. R... you have to be okay._

With rising dread she ran to the nearest house, wincing as her bare hand touched the metal door knob. It was locked. There were bushes and shrubs in every front yard, dried husks of plants, and her mind kept skittering every time she saw some lump in the snow that wasn't immediately recognizable. Panic skated across her skin as she tried each house, and raced up to every snowy mound.

R wasn't here.

The cold was slicing through her clothes with every gust of the wild wind, and it horrified her. He'd been out in this in the same gear. For hours now...

_Jesus, R._

Eventually it was too much for her and she raced back to the car, jumping in and shoving her hands under her arms. Mark climbed in next to her and started the engine and soon warm air flooded the cabin. Julie soaked in it gratefully.

"Going to try some side streets," Mark said under his breath, as he pulled the car away from the park. Julie watched the bench disappear into the shifting snow as they left.

As they turned around the first corner, she caught something quickly through the curtain of white.

"Look, on the ground," she said, pointing ahead.

"I see it," Mark answered, nodding. Steering the car over, he parked on the curb and jumped out. Julie wrestled with her door as the wind yanked it out of her hands, but finally joined him.

It was hard to make out what had happened to disturb the snow so much, as new snow had covered the area, but a strange trail led down the road, and up the lawn of a nearby house, where a light shone from an upstairs window.

"Let's check it out," Mark said over her shoulder.

Returning to the car, he grabbed a gun from the center console and tucked it into the back of his pants.

Julie watched him, "Expecting trouble?"

"You never know," he answered softly.

Together they walked to the front door of the house, the only bright blue building in the neighborhood. The only building with lights. The wind swept fiercely around them, stinging their faces with snow.

Mark pulled his hand back, ready to knock on the door, and a voice came from the other side.

"What do you want?" it asked. A man's voice, young-ish. Cautious.

Julie's heart sank.  _That's not R._

She spoke up, "We're looking for someone, a friend, lost in the storm. Have you seen him?"

Silence.

"We know he was at the park down the road, we saw something leading up here. Have you seen him?"

_Please..._

"I haven't, and you need to leave," the man answered bluntly from the other side of the door.

Julie's heart plummeted. This had been their last hope.

"You didn't hear anything? See anything? He's a tall guy, green jacket?" she asked, her voice breaking.

"No. Get off my property."

Julie's jaw set, and her shoulders stiffened, "Why are you being such an ass?! He could be dying!"

Mark squeezed her arm and tried to pull her away, but she jerked from his grasp and slammed her fist on the door, "You must have seen something! He was just down the road! There's a trail leading up the side of your house!"

The door opened, and the barrel of a rifle edged through the gap, pointed directly at her face. Wielding it was a tall, gaunt man in his mid twenties, with a shock of white hair and the palest eyes she had ever seen in someone alive.

"I dragged some wood up here from the park today lady. Now get off my property," the man said, his voice unnervingly even. "This is your last warning."

Julie glared at the man, her heart squeezed by anger and worry, as Mark took her arm and led her back to the car. The man kept his rifle trained on them until they'd pulled away from the curb and returned to the main street.

"Asshole," she snapped, and struggled to stay above tears. The trail they'd found was his. R might not have been here at all.

Mark sighed as they neared the park. "People don't have a lot of trust these days Julie, he reacted pretty much as I'd expect."

Julie stared at Mark. She could feel the hope running out of his voice. She couldn't take that, didn't like what it meant.

"We're going to find him," she said, hoping to rekindle the embers of his hope, and her own.

"Oh I know we'll find him Julie," he said with a deeper sigh, "I'm just not sure in what... shape."

"God, please don't say that, we have to find him, he's got to be okay." The tears started to spill from her eyes and she bowed her head, no longer able to look out the window for strange lumps in the snow.

Mark stopped the car next to the park and pulled her into a hug, and somehow it was worse, because he didn't say anything, and the look in his eyes said so much more.

Fear.

When he finally pulled away, he looked resigned. "Julie, you heard what the guy said. Those tracks were his. Rowan might not have made it here at all."

"Maybe..." she said quietly, and stared out over the park. "But I'm sure this is where he was headed."

Mark was silent for a moment, deep in thought. "You said he told you he went here, right after the airport, right after he... turned?"

She nodded.

He rubbed a hand over his eyes and down his face. "He was headed home," he said softly.

"What?"

Mark pointed over her shoulder, "The airport is that way," he said, then pointed in the opposite direction, through the park, "Our home, the one we had to abandon for the shelter, is about eight miles that way."

Julie was stunned, "Really?"

"Yeah." He looked weary suddenly, sinking in his seat.

"Wow..." she said quietly. "He really was different from the start, wasn't he."

Mark sighed, "Yeah. I just wish I'd done something about it sooner. Saved him a lot of pain, all that guilt."

Julie shook her head, "Things happened the way they were meant to happen. If you'd tried to do something earlier..." she paused, unsure exactly how to phrase what she wanted to say, "...he might have something even worse to regret."

Mark smirked at her, "Ah, so you're one of those folks."

She raised an eyebrow, "Those folks?"

He pulled away again and drove slowly down the street alongside the park, glancing out at the houses through the snow. "You believe in destiny. Fate. Probably an afterlife."

"Absolutely," Julie said, and turned away to scan her side of the road, looking out over the broad flat stretch of snow. The trees, dark trunks starkly highlighted in white, stood like silent sentinels. "I'm guessing you don't."

"No, I don't," he answered, and took the next right.

Julie looked at him. "Why?"

Mark shrugged. "I don't think I need anything outside of myself to be better than I am. I've got everything I need here," he tapped the side of his head. "I set goals, I do everything I can to achieve what I set out to do, I help who I can. I'm not doing it for some kind of reward. I'm not doing it because it's been preordained by something out there." He waved his hand dismissively. "I do it because it's who I am, who I want to be, and how I choose to affect the world."

Then he smirked, "Sorry, that got real heavy, real quick."

Julie gave a small smile, and stared out the window at the passing trees. "I don't mind."

They took another turn, and drifted down another empty street, the snow dancing back and forth in the headlights.

Mark released a heavy sigh. "He's not here."

"I know," she agreed, her voice flat.

He took the next turn left, and Julie swiveled in her seat. "Where are you going?"

"Back to the airport."

"Why?" she asked, her voice rising, "We should stay here in case he comes!"

Mark took her hand. "Julie, there is no way he's still walking in this storm. He wasn't wearing the right gear for it."

She frowned, "But-"

"We're going to head back the direct route he may have taken from the airport, keep an eye out for any shelter he might have broken into, alright?"

Her frown deepened. While it made sense, she couldn't help but feel as if she was leaving R behind. Maybe it was just the shape on the bench... putting him there in her mind, but... it was as if she could feel him here, near the park.

"And..." he added quietly, "look for anything usual in the snow."

Julie's skin prickled. Mark was suggesting it again. That R was lying somewhere, covered in snow. Dead. As they crawled along the roads back to the airport, her eyes danced over everything they passed with gut churning dread. There were a couple of homes and buildings along the way that looked promising, their doors yawning open, looking like doorways into the night. They checked them all. All of them were empty.

_Jesus, R... where are you?_

Finally, they reached the airport again, and stopped at the 747. Mark ran up the metal stairs, thickly draped in snow now, and disappeared into the cabin for a few minutes. Julie watched him, from the warmth of the car, her body caught in a deep chill that set her teeth chattering. She'd wanted to check the plane herself, but Mark had seen how cold she was and made her stay.

He reappeared at the door, and Julie felt her throat tighten as he closed it behind him. R wasn't there. He hadn't come back to the plane. He was still out in the storm somewhere.

Mark climbed back in, shaking his head.

"Let's go back to the park," she said, clenching her jaw against the shivers. "Maybe he went a little further? Headed for home?"

Mark shook his head again, and headed down the tarmac the way he'd come when he'd first driven up.

"What are you doing?"

"We're going back to the city," he answered flatly.

"What?! No, we can't go back! He's still-"

"Julie," Mark cut her off, his voice sharp, "you have mild hypothermia, and I'm heading there myself, we're not prepared for an all night search. We're also running out of gas. We're going back, and we're going to get some help."

"NO! We can't leave him out here!" she cried, and she grabbed at his arm, desperately trying to get him to turn the wheel. "We can't leave him behind!" She'd left him behind when she shouldn't have, they couldn't do it again!

"QUIT IT!" he roared, and she jerked back, startled by the force in his voice.

Releasing a heavy sigh, he reached out to her, and gently squeezing her shoulder. When he spoke, his voice was calm and even. "I want to find my son Julie. I don't know where he is, I'm scared for him and it's killing me. But we can't stay out here honey, it's dangerous. We need help."

As the tears streamed down her face, she nodded mutely. She knew it was the sensible thing to do. But it felt like failure. Her failure, to stay by him, to protect him. To... keep  _him_  safe.

As they pulled out of the airport, and turned onto the interstate back home, she stared back over her shoulder.

She  _knew_ he was there. She  _knew_ he was back where the park was. She could feel it, inside, a pull like a rubber band stretched to its limit.

_R... I'm going to find you, no matter where you are._


	18. The Visit

Rowan woke slowly, rising through layers of consciousness like a diver coming up for air, gradually aware that he was in bed, under copious layers of covers and deliciously warm. Shifting slightly, he nestled deeper into the cocoon of blankets, then broke into a wide yawn.

God, he was cozy. He couldn't remember ever being this comfortable. This was just... heaven.

Opening his eyes, he found himself staring at a window. Warm light glowed from the soft curtains, falling over his bed. Outside, he could hear kids playing and laughing, calling out to each other. The sound was incredibly joyful, and he smiled.

Rubbing his eyes sleepily, he turned onto his back, then gazed lazily around the room, his eyes taking in the colorful posters on the walls, the haphazardly stacked books and action figures crowding the bookshelves, and finally, the figure at the door.

"Hey mom," he mumbled, stretching his arms out across the bed.

Claire smiled at him from the doorway, "Hey sweetheart. Have a good sleep?"

He nodded, rubbing his eyes again, "Yeah. Really good."

Her smile grew. "Good. I've got breakfast going downstairs, come down when you're ready?"

Yawning, he nodded, "Yup."

She turned and left, and he smiled, still deliriously comfortable under the covers.

Mom looked good. Really good actually, better than he'd ever seen her.

Certainly better than the last time he'd seen her, when... when she'd...

R froze.

...died.

He shot bolt upright in his bed.

His old bed. In his old room. At his old home. With all of his old stuff.

With a terrible, strange fear, he focused on the doorway, where he had seen his mother moments ago.

"Mom?" he whispered.

She didn't return. But of course, she wouldn't hear him anyway, because she was downstairs... making breakfast. He could hear her moving around, hear the sound of a frying pan against the stove.

_This is a dream. I'm dreaming._

But it didn't feel like a dream. It felt incredibly real. In fact, it felt more vivid, more alive than his waking life had felt lately. And not because real life had been deficient in some way, but because he was feeling so much  _more_. Everything felt magnified. The tactile comfort of his bed, the golden warmth of the light from the window, the absolutely satisfying stretch he'd just had.

So if this wasn't a dream... then...

Another hallucination? It had to be... like the girl had said, he was hallucinating from the cold, he had to keep moving, because he was going... to...

...die.

R stared around the room, taking in the beautiful sunshine, the delighted laughter from the kids outside and the most delicious smell of bacon cooking downstairs.

His mouth swamped. God, he was so hungry, and that smelled...

...heavenly.

R frowned. He was  _not_ dead. There was no such thing as life after death. Okay, yes, he'd been a corpse that had almost magically come back to life, twice... but that didn't prove God, or heaven or anything like that. It just proved that things were pretty fucking weird, and they didn't have all the answers.

This had to be a hallucination. R pushed himself to remember what had happened after leaving the bench with the girl, and had a flash of a memory. Of rolling onto his back, enveloped in snow, and just... lying there.

_Oh shit._

_I'm fucking dying in a street and hallucinating about mom. Oh crap._

R squeezed his eyes shut desperately. He had to wake up! He had to wake up now! Somebody had to find him, get him out of the snow!

"Rowan, you coming sweetheart?" his mother called from downstairs, "It's going to get cold!"

_Cold._

God, it'd been so cold...

For a moment, he felt an echo of that chill, deep to the bone, and about him the room flickered and changed.

And he was standing in the middle of a storm, looking down at himself.

For a moment, he wasn't sure what to think. That was his body, lying on the road, cocooned and covered in deepening snow. The sight of it, absolutely alone, being slowly erased from the world by the white, made him feel terribly sad.

"Rowan?" came his mom's voice again, and he turned.

And he was back in his old bed, staring at the doorway, where his mom had poked her head in.

"Come on, it's ready," she said with a grin, and darted out of view again.

R gripped the sheets about him, his knuckles white. He didn't understand what was happening at all, but had a terrible feeling that maybe... he really was... dead. Or at least... dying. The sadness of what he had seen lingered over him, even in the warm golden glow of sunlight from the window, as he slowly swung off the bed and stood in the middle of his room.

Then he looked down.

He was wearing his old Superman underwear.

"Holy crap..." he mumbled, his skin flushing, and raided his drawers for jeans and a t-shirt.

"Okay! Guess I'm eating this then!" his mom yelled up the stairwell.

"No! Wait, I'm coming!" he yelled back, and wrestled to get his pants on, before running out of his room and down the stairs.

It was while he was pulling his shirt on and turning the corner into the hallway that he realized he'd just clicked into his old life again. Mom making breakfast, waiting until the last possible minute to come when called, and racing to the finish line to gobble some great food.

He slowed, feeling every step down the hall, his bare feet nestling in the plush carpet. Photos lined the walls around him. Generations of family gatherings, soccer games, canoeing trips with fish held proudly high, high school graduation shots with braces. And proudly framed above the rest, a big painting his brother had done when he was eight. A bright splattery composition of the house and the whole family, with big dabs of white paint for everyone's smiles.

The opening to the kitchen was right in front of him, and the smell coming from it was... amazing. Feeling a strange trepidation, he peeked around the wall.

His mom was sitting at the small breakfast table, set by the window, across from his plate, and she'd just lifted a fork heavy with fried egg to her mouth.

"Didn't think you'd ever get here," Claire said, and laughed as she put the fork back down on his plate.

R just stared at her, stunned. That laugh. His mom's beautiful laugh. He'd missed it so much.

"Mom..." he whispered softly, and the sound was needful and more than a little lost.

"Would you eat this already?" she said with a grin, and poked his plate with his fork again.

He walked over, the tiles on the floor cool against his bare feet, and hesitated by the table for a moment, unsure.

Claire smirked at him, her eyes bright with amusement, "Going to eat standing up? I don't think so. Come on, sit."

R almost frantically engulfed her in a hug, resting his head against her shoulder as he held on to her so tightly it was hard to breathe. It  _was_ mom, she felt the same, the soft sweater she always wore around the house, the warmth of her arms, the scent that lingered around her, so essentially his mom, that he started to cry. It'd been so damn long.

"Oh sweetheart, I know..." she said softly, her voice resonating against his chest, and she rubbed his back comfortingly, "It's okay. It's going to be okay."

"Mom, I missed you so much," he mumbled into her sweater as his tears were swallowed by the warm fabric.

"I know sweetheart," she answered, and kissed him gently on the temple. "You're here now though."

Something in the way she'd said that made him pull away from her slowly, and she stared up at him, her eyes a little sad.

"Mom... am I...?" he started, but couldn't finish. Couldn't bring himself to say the words.

She gave him an enigmatic smile, and tapped his plate. "Eat first, then we'll talk."

R wasn't exactly comforted by that, but pulled reluctantly away and sat in front of the breakfast she'd made.

It looked... absolutely perfect. Two eggs over easy, one a little mangled, three strips of really, really crispy bacon and golden hashbrowns mixed with onions and a little cheese. And, oh god, pancakes.

His mouth flooded again and he dived in on automatic, the strangeness of being in his old house with his dead mother completely dispelled by the promise of an amazing breakfast.

It didn't disappoint, and he groaned happily, "Oh wow."

Claire laugh again, "I know, right? Am I a good cook or what?"

R grinned, "You were always a good cook mom." The smile faltered as he stabbed his fork into the incredibly fluffy pancakes, "Mom?"

"Yes Rowan?"

"Is this a dream?"

Claire shook her head, "No sweetheart, this isn't a dream." Her eyes turned a little sad again. "And no, you're not hallucinating."

R frowned. "But you'd probably say that in a dream anyway."

She laughed again, the sound bubbling from her with unrestrained amusement. "That's probably true. But, tell me, does this  _feel_ like a dream?"

He hesitated for a moment before slowly shaking his head. Then he swallowed, hard. "Am I... dead, mom?"

Claire looked at him, and her eyes were soft with a mother's affection and concern, "If I said you were, what would you say?"

The bottom fell out of R's stomach, and he slowly pushed the plate of pancakes away. "I've been dead before."

His mom reached out and closed her hand over his own. Her touch was warm and reassuring. "That was very different Rowan."

"So, you're saying I'm really dead," he said flatly.

She tilted her head, glancing away for a moment, "Well..."

" _Well?_ Well what?! And wait," he snapped suddenly, interrupting himself, "I don't believe in heaven, mom, or an afterlife, or any of that stuff, so what is this?" He waved his hand at the room, and it rippled strangely, as if he'd actually drawn his hand through the substance of it.

"Whoa..." He tried it again, but it stayed frustratingly inert.

Claire sighed. "I blame your father for that."

R looked back at her, confused. "For what?"

Smirking, she propped her head on her hand, "For taking belief in the bigger things away from you and Bran. He stole some magic from your world when he did that... and a little hope."

R sat back and crossed his arms. He'd had this conversation with his mom before, and it never went where either of them wanted it to go.

"So why didn't you stop him?" he asked bluntly.

She was quiet for a moment before answering. "I felt it was important for you to discover it for yourselves. I didn't want to cram theology down your throat, anymore than I wanted your dad to pull it away. I just didn't expect you'd follow him so closely." She giggled. "Turn into good little atheists."

R smirked, "Actually Bran's a little more like you now."

Claire smiled, "I know. That makes me happy." She started gigging again, and it soon turned into a full-throated laugh.

R raised an eyebrow. "What?"

She shook her head, still laughing.

"What?!" R asked, as he found himself joining her. His mom's laugh had always been infectious.

"It's funny," she finally managed, wiping her hand over her watering eyes, "You're arguing with me about the afterlife, in the afterlife."

All of the humor drained from R in an instant, and the smile slid from his face.

Claire smirked. "Sorry."

His eyes fell to the edge of the table, and his fingers sought and rubbed over the little notches he'd carved there as a kid.

"This can't be heaven, mom."

"Why?"

"Because the only afterlife I deserve is hell."

"Rowan..." His mother's voice was a hushed whisper. She sounded shocked. "Rowan, look at me."

He did.

"Why would you say that?" she asked, her eyes deeply sorrowful.

"Shouldn't you know why?" he shot back, his voice sharp, "I mean, if you're some omnipresent spirit floating around us all the time? Or did you just take a vacation the past eight years?"

As he spoke the anger rose, and he had no idea where to put it, what to do with it. He wasn't angry at his mom... or maybe he was... for her not being there. For leaving them behind so long ago.

The golden light from the window paled, growing wan and thin.

Claire sighed. "I saw everything Rowan. All of it. I was with you always."

R felt something roar up in him, something he'd buried deeply, something he'd never wanted to deal with, didn't want to face. Something from the dark well inside. "Everything huh?!" he snapped, his face twisting, "Saw me tear people apart and eat them alive?! Stuck around to watch me shatter their skulls until they stopped screaming?! WELL THAT'S FUCKING AWESOME!"

Shouting now, on his feet, he was only barely aware that everything around them was changing. The room was growing darker as the light petered to a dull grey, and the house suddenly looked abandoned, the walls and carpet stained, the counters, the furniture covered in dust and cobwebs. Broken dishes littered the floor.

Finally it reached him, and he threw his hand out, "Yeah, you see? THIS, this is more like it! I deserve  _this_! Not perfect sunlight and perfect food, a perfect home... I deserve THIS. Because I killed people mom! I KILLED PEOPLE!"

Shaking, his throat hoarse from what he'd just screamed out across the dark kitchen, R stared at his mom, and his face crumpled in despair. "I killed them mom," he moaned. "I hurt so many people..." Unable to handle the weight of it anymore, he sank to his knees on the dusty floor and started to cry.

Claire lowered silently to the floor beside him, and gathered him in her arms. Desperately, he squeezed against her, his cries growing in volume until the empty space around them was shattered with the sound of his grief. Everything poured out of him, the guilt, the shame, the horror of what he'd done, drawn into the space around them, and into the arms of his mother.

Slowly, the pain eased, and his cries grew softer, until there was just stillness and the steady beat of his mom's heart. She stroked his hair gently and murmured soft words of comfort, and he relaxed completely against her, his breath easing.

"That was a long time coming sweetheart," she said softly.

He nodded softly against her, as he wiped at his tears, then finally pulled away. "I'm sorry."

Claire smiled at him, and the room seemed to brighten around them both. "I know."

"I've been laying into a lot of people lately..." he muttered, looking down at floor. The dust he'd disturbed as he dropped to his knees seemed to be dissipating, and he stared at it, confused.

"Including yourself, you know. Or do you normally take long walks in snowstorms for fun?"

He glanced up at her. A small smile played at the corners of her mouth, but didn't reach her eyes.

"No..." he sighed, and looked down again. "I wanted to try and help. I wasn't thinking." Then he frowned, realizing what he'd been feeling, deeper than that. "I don't think I cared."

"No, you didn't," Claire said sharply, and her tone drew his gaze again. Her face was drawn, her eyes terribly sad. Taking his hands in her own, she squeezed them. "You can't do that to yourself Rowan. You certainly can't do that to me, or your dad, or Bran..."

She pulled his hands gently until he looked up.

"... or Julie."

R winced, feeling a deep pain in his chest.

Julie. Where was Julie now? Did she know he was gone? Would she find him, lying in the snow?

_God... please don't let her be the one who finds me._

They'd fought. His last words to her had been... terrible. His gaze fell to his hands as he remembered what he'd said, that look of utter shock on her face.

_Jesus. I'm sorry Julie. I never meant to hurt you. I wish I could take it back... say sorry..._

The space around him shifted. Instead of the quiet of his mother's breath in the empty space of the kitchen, he heard an engine idling roughly, and the sound of someone breathing in shivers through clenched teeth.

R looked up.

He was sitting in the back of a car, and in front of him in the passenger seat... was Julie. Her face in profile was drawn with worry, and she was looking out the window, at the 747. The door of the plane yawned open.

"Julie!" he cried, his heart jumping at the sight of her, and he reached out, wanting desperately to hold her, to pull her close.

And his hand passed through her, as if she wasn't there at all.

Stunned, he stared at his hand, and at the back of her head, his mind stuttering over what had just happened.

"Julie?" he said, and tried again, his hand stretching for her shoulder. God, he needed so badly to hold her, let her know he was okay.

He felt only empty air.

"No..." he whispered, and the reality of it sank through him like lead. He wasn't really here.

He was dead.

Julie made a small sound, and for a moment he thought she  _had_ heard him, that he had reached her, but then he saw his father closing the door of the plane and coming down the stairs.

Emotion rolled over him in waves, not his own, and it took him a moment to realize it was radiating from Julie. Heavy thick threads and clouds of sorrow at the sight of his dad, leaving the plane. She had hoped R was in there, that he'd come back and was waiting the storm out somewhere safe...

"I'm sorry Julie..." he sighed, his voice falling flat in the space around them, unheard.

Mark climbed back into the car, and R's heart lurched. His dad was sending off a dark despair, a deep fear for his son, and R reeled with the pain of it, the loss of hope.

"I'm right here... dad...  _shit_." He'd tried to grab his dad's arm, but his dad was as insubstantial as Julie.

_No. It's me. I'm the insubstantial one._

"Let's go back to the park," Julie offered, and the hope in her voice pulled at R. God he just wanted to hold her. Why couldn't he hold her? She was shaking with cold as she spoke, her jaw tightly clenched. "Maybe he went a little further? Headed for home?"

R shook his head slowly.  _Don't go back to the park Julie... I don't want you to find me... not like that._

His father shook his head, put the car in gear, and started down the tarmac. Towards the city.

R nodded and looked at his dad's worried profile with a sad smile. "It's okay dad. It's the right thing to do," he said softly.

As he spoke, Julie spoke over him, and it hurt him to hear the pain in her voice, her disbelief over his dad's choice. "What are you doing?!"

"We're going back to the city."

"What?! No, we can't go back! He's still-"

R just stared at her, his eyes welling with tears.  _God I'm sorry Julie... please, you've got to let it go._

His dad interrupted her, reminding her that she was dangerously cold, that they were almost out of gas. That they needed help. It was smart, and R found himself nodding at his father's words. They had to be safe, he couldn't stand it if anyone got hurt because of him.

It was too late anyway.

But Julie wouldn't let it go, and R reached for her again, desperate to give her some comfort, and watched in sadness as she tried to wrest the steering wheel from his father.

Julie's thoughts tumbled over him, with the terrible guilt she felt for leaving him behind in the plane. God, it wasn't her fault! She had to see that!

"QUIT IT!"

R jerked back, stunned at his father's roar, and caught Julie's look of shock. He hadn't heard his dad yell like that since... well, since just before he died. The first time.

"Jesus Dad, go easy..." he started, but his voice trailed away, because his dad had started to speak over him, reaching out to Julie.

"I want to find my son Julie. I don't know where he is, I'm scared for him and it's killing me. But we can't stay out here honey, it's dangerous. We need help."

R dropped his head in his hands.  _God I was such a fucking idiot. I'm so sorry dad._

What would his dad tell Brandon? Jesus... the last thing he'd done with his brother was kick him out of the apartment!

"Fuuuuck," R moaned.

Julie's crisp, piercing emotions slid over him again, like nails against bare skin, and he looked up at her. Crying, she nodded reluctantly. But inside... inside... she was blaming herself. Blaming herself for not... keeping him safe.

"Jesus Julie... that was never your job. That was mine. I screwed up," he sighed, and stared at her, his eyes traveling over the soft curves of her face, her lashes wet with tears, her mouth that just this morning he had kissed. He remembered the taste of her and closed his eyes.

"Julie. I'm so sorry for what I said this morning. You didn't deserve that. I was..." he opened his eyes again, knowing she couldn't hear him, but wanting so badly to say what he needed to say, and unsure of the words.

Julie turned and looked at him.

He sat up, his heart suddenly pounding. Had she heard him? Felt him?

"Julie?"

But she didn't react, and he realized she wasn't really focused on him at all. She was looking beyond him. He could feel her thoughts, flitting through the space between them like fish through water. Somehow, she knew he was back at the park.

He shook his head, "I'm not there anymore Julie, not really. I'm here."

_R... I'm going to find you, no matter where you are._

The thought came to him in her voice, and he found himself smiling as he looked at her. She was so strong, so absolutely certain in her belief that she would find him. She'd always impressed him with her determination to see the best in things, to believe that everything would unfold as it should, and that there was always room for hope. Always.

The only time he'd ever seen it fall from her was in the stadium, before they'd jumped from the boneys. She'd actually looked at him and said 'It's over.' And it had been his turn to be the strong one.

The hopeful one.

And despite the impossibility of it, he let her hope wash over him now and through him, and accepted it.

_Okay. I'll be waiting._

Then he leaned forward, even though it was pointless, and kissed the air where her mouth should have been.

"I love you Julie."

"I like her," came his mom's voice behind him.

With a startled jump, R turned, and found himself suddenly back in the kitchen, no longer dark and dank, but brightly filled with warm golden light.

He spun back around, but Julie was gone.

"Mom!"

Claire gave an apologetic smile, "Sorry, I didn't mean to pull you away."

R turned back again to where Julie had been, but there was only the back of his chair. He sighed heavily and propped his head in his hands. "We had a fight this morning. The last thing I said to her was really shitty. Really dumb."

Claire put a comforting hand on his back. The touch was warm and felt like home. "You were hurting Rowan. You've been hurting for a while. She forgives you."

He nodded quietly, then looked around the kitchen, restored again, the house full of warm color and light. "Why did this place change? How was I able to see Julie?"

His mom stood, and held out a hand to help him up. "You're more a thought than a body right now sweetheart. If you think something, you can pretty much make it happen. You thought of Julie, so you went to her. You thought of being cold before, and you saw yourself in the snow. You thought you didn't deserve good things, so you stripped everything I'd been doing here away. That's why the kitchen changed. You made it look like it really does."

R stared around the house. "You mean... this is really home?"

Claire gave a small smile. "Yes, I just choose to remember it as it was... perhaps a little better than it was," she grinned. Then she sighed. "When you became angry, when all of that stuff came up from you, you stripped it back to how it really looks."

"I didn't mean to..."

"I know that sweetheart," Claire said softly, then tsked, "Did you see how messy it is now though? God, it's embarrassing!"

R smirked, "Mom. You've been dead for ten years, and the world's been overrun with zombies for eight, I don't think it's your responsibility to clean."

Claire threw her head back and laughed, and the sound made him feel good inside, a bloom of joy that made him feel like everything was right in the world. Watching his mom, he smiled, then engulfed her in a big hug.

"I love you mom," he said softly, closing his eyes as he held her close.

"I love you too sweetheart... always and forever." She pulled away and gave him her brightest smile, but there was something intangibly sad in her eyes, and he frowned slightly.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"I think it's time for you to go," she said quietly. "I think I've held onto you long enough. I just... wanted to talk to you. I missed holding my little boy." She reached out and stroked his hair back over his ear.

"But... where am I going? Why aren't you coming?" her sadness pulled at him, and he felt his heart ache. "I don't want to leave you mom, I just found you!"

A shiver gripped him. A strong, sudden motion that caught him off guard, and came with a wave of coldness that made his teeth hurt.

"It's okay sweetheart. I'm never far. I'll never be far. You have to be careful now though, you understand?"

The shivering grew in intensity, and he wrapped his arms about himself, stunned at the bone deep chill that was claiming him inside. It was almost like getting infected, and he had a quick surge of panic.

"Mom... what's going... on...?" he asked through clenched teeth, his eyes wide.

Claire smiled at him, her eyes wet with tears. "You're going back sweetheart."

"But... I thought... was... dead?" he mumbled, his jaw muscles tensing as his ears and nose started to hurt, starting to sting as if frozen.

She shook her head, "No Rowan, just somewhere in between." The tears fell from her eyes, "I'm so sorry for what you're about to go through. You have to be careful Rowan... promise me you'll be careful. Stay strong."

Something was pulling at him. Something powerful. As the cold claimed his body, stealing his limbs, stealing his thoughts, he felt himself moving  _somewhere_  with frightening speed, as if he were snapping back into place like a rubber band.

"I love you Rowan," Claire said softly, from somewhere very far away.

And he was swallowed by the frozen dark.


	19. The Return

He was a dot of consciousness in a sea of frozen ice. Burning up with cold, immobile, and yet shivering so violently the ice was cracking and falling away from him. The outline of his body came to him then, a landscape of pain, the thin outer shell of hurt that stung so fiercely he felt as if his skin was being torn away. A sharp agony emerging from numbness.

There was a sound, somewhere. A thumping, flailing creature in his chest, pumping glacial blood through the branching tree of arteries and veins within him. Working hard. Too hard.

Another sound too, something outside of his body that his ears were not hearing right. Something deep, insistent. A rhythmic cadence that suggested meaning, but provided none.

His eyes slowly opened. Muted blobs of color swam in front of him. He watched them, his mind registering movement, but remaining distant and uninterested. The blobs coalesced into smaller blurs as he blinked slowly, watching but not understanding, until something engaged and he realized there was someone in front of him.

A figure, with very light hair, right in front of him. Waving something dark. The sounds were coming from the figure, and they were growing louder, more insistent.

He watched for as long as he could, but his body started to sink through space, heavy and adrift, and pulled his consciousness down with it.

As his eyes slowly closed, he felt something distantly, a jarring motion that skittered across his skin like fire. But it was too late to pull him back up, and he sank into oblivion.


	20. The Good Day

"No! No, don't fall asleep!" Evan yelled, smacking the kid in the chest. The blow had no effect, as the kid's eyes slid shut and it didn't look like he was coming back any time soon. Grabbing him by his bundled shoulders, Evan shook the guy hard anyway, but he didn't stir.

"Dammit!" he cried, jerking away from the couch and giving it a hard kick.

The goddamn kid had just stared at him, hadn't responded at all when he'd asked about the bear. It was as if he wasn't even there. It was frustrating. He'd been watching him for hours, pacing the room nervously, terrified that he wouldn't make it, terrified that the answers about the bear would die with him.

He'd also dealt with the guy's friends, which was an added worry. They seemed to buy his story, so hopefully they'd keep looking elsewhere. If not, then he'd just add them to the food store. Problem was, too many people connected like this, disappearing from the one spot, it was going to draw more attention. It's why he'd taken to driving around further and further out, looking for people in trouble, or people who were trouble.

They tasted just as good as the rest.

Having decided he'd just have to deal with them very carefully, if they became a problem, he'd settled in to watch the kid again.

Eventually the color had returned to the guy's face, his eyes had softened and closed, he'd breathed. And Evan knew he'd pull through, he knew he'd get his answers soon. That he'd know, and understand how this guy was linked to his sister.

When the kid's eyes had finally opened, he'd jumped on him immediately, holding the bear up, demanding the answers he needed. And the kid had just slipped away again.

_Fuck._

Evan took a deep breath. It wouldn't help to get all worked up. Certainly wouldn't help to beat the guy senseless. He'd been turned into a popsicle and was probably seriously fucked up inside. Probably a little numb in the brain.

While Evan hated the idea, he would just have to wait.

Slowly, he realized how tired he was. The frantic rushing to save the guy, dealing with the mystery man's friends and the women downstairs, and the nervous energy he'd expended waiting on the guy to recover had left him drained. It didn't help that he hadn't eaten anything for a while, but it was too late now to take the lady downstairs. He'd have to dive into some of the canned crap he'd filched from their house for now, even though the thought made him want to puke.

He stared at the man, breathing softly in a cocoon of blankets and comforters. If Evan went to sleep now, would the guy wake up during the night? Would he move around? Well, that wouldn't work. The kid might find his store downstairs, might get a little unpredictable.

Heading to the hall closet, he pulled out a few of his spare ropes, tossing back a couple that were badly stained in blood.

Returning to the living room, he carefully wrapped the ropes around the guy's legs and chest. Tangled as the guy was in the blankets, Evan didn't have to bind them too tightly and cut off circulation that was just getting going again. After he was done, he nodded, satisfied. The kid wouldn't be going anywhere tonight.

Standing, he listened again to the house. The women were quiet, the guy was out and his sister was calm. There was plenty of food and he was safe. With that knowledge, the weariness fell on him tenfold, and he yawned, wiping his hand across his eyes.

Shuffling into the kitchen, he passed the laundry room and winced at the mess on the floor. He'd meant to hose the blood down this afternoon, but finding the kid had completely distracted him. It would just have to wait till morning.

He grabbed a can of food from the bag he'd taken from the other house, dropped it loudly on the kitchen island, and rummaged through a drawer for the can opener. He didn't even bother reading the label on the can. Didn't matter what was in it, it was going to taste like shit. Everything had, once he'd started eating what his sister ate.

With a heavy sigh, he threw in a spoon and sat down on the kitchen stool, hesitating for a moment before forcing himself to take a few mouthfuls. It'd been a while, maybe it would be different this time? But no, it tasted like lifeless dust.

Evan pushed the can away, dropping the spoon in it with a grimace, and got to his feet.

He'd eat better tomorrow.

Right now it was time to go to bed. Yawning widely, he left the kitchen and pulled himself up the stairs to his room.

There was a strange cry down the hall. From the second bedroom.

His sister's room.

Frowning, suddenly worried, he quickly moved to his sister's door and pushed it inward. She was turned from him, hunched over the savaged corpse of the man he'd pulled from the other house. The husband of the woman downstairs. There was very little left of the man now, just raw strips of bloody flesh on bone, but Evan found his mouth watering anyway. Fuck, he was hungry.

"Rachel, what's wrong?" he asked.

His sister turned slowly, and Evan smiled at her. She really did seem happier now. He was glad she'd had a good meal.

Walking in short jerky steps, she moved to the bars of the cage that separated them. He hated keeping her in a cage, but it was for her own good, and of course his. Years ago he'd made it using the welding equipment he'd found in the basement of a neighboring house. Being the first time he'd ever tried his hand at welding, it'd been a lot of fun.

As she neared, Evan stared at her intently, looking for some clue as to why she'd made the sound. "What, sis? What's wrong?"

Rachel extended her hand, and in it was a large slab of meat, bloody and dripping. Something from the thigh it looked like, and Evan quickly wiped his hand by his mouth to avoid the embarrassment of drooling in front of his sister.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his eyes fixed on the marbled muscle.

With a sharp hiss, she dropped it in front of him, and turned back to the husband's remains, crouching over the corpse before tearing something free with a loud pop.

Evan reached down and grabbed the meat, and smiled. "Thanks sis," he said and walked out the door, calling over his shoulder as he left. "Good night."

Practically running back down the stairs to the kitchen, Evan immediately set the cast iron skillet on the stove, his stomach growling as he waited for it to heat. Since it was such a generous slab of meat, he saved half of it in the fridge for tomorrow's breakfast, and fried up what was left. It surprised him that his sister had done that. She wasn't normally the giving type.

Finally he sat in front of his meal and took the first bite, and his whole being buzzed. It had been a while since he'd had it so fresh, and he sat, with his eyes closed, feeling brilliant sparks firing off in his head, racing just under his skin.

_Life._

Man, it felt so good.

The meal done way too quickly, he pushed himself away from the table, washed his plate and utensils in the sink and slowly took the stairs to the bathroom. After a satisfying stretch in front of the toilet, he shuffled into his room and collapsed on the bed, pulling the covers over himself with a tear inducing yawn.

And he smiled as sleep claimed him.

Today had been a very  _good_  day.


	21. The Arrest

By the time they reached the city, the snow on the roads had piled to almost two feet, and the patrol car was struggling. After they hit a massive drift a mile from town, Julie wasn't even sure they'd make it back.

They finally pulled in to find the main roads in the city had been plowed, and made their way immediately to the armory.

The Colonel was waiting for them both, arms crossed, brows lowered dangerously. Alarms went off in Julie's head. God, she was about to hear it from her dad. She'd radioed ahead as soon as they'd hit the interstate to the city, and he'd sounded pissed then, so she couldn't imagine what mood he was in now.

Mark had been quiet for the trip back, though he'd released a couple of heavy sighs, shaking his head at his own thoughts. Still feeling that it was her fault R left the plane in the first place, Julie had spent the entire trip back buried in guilt.

The sound of the car's engine was loud in the enclosed space as they came to a stop before her glowering father. Mark cut the engine and they both went to meet him, Julie keeping her gaze fixed on the oil stained floor.

John didn't even bother with formalities. "Situation?"

Julie crossed her arms. Yeah, her dad was really pissed.

"Pretty fucking bad," Mark answered honestly. "Snow's getting to two feet deep, with drifts of up to six right now. Still going strong. We can't drive around in this thing anymore," he said, hooking his thumb back to the patrol car.

The Colonel nodded. "He's been out for at least eight hours now." It wasn't a question, just a statement. Julie didn't like the way it was said.

"He's at the park somewhere," she said quickly, rubbing her arms down as she stood next to them both. "I know it. We just need the snow plow dad, that'll get us through this mess."

John Grigio turned to his daughter, "You can't have the snow plow Julie, we need it here. We have to keep the roads clear to the hospital. It's already being hit hard thanks to the weather, and you're about to head there yourself."

"I am  _not,_ " Julie shot back.

The Colonel glowered at her, and glanced at Mark. "Both of you are."

"Dad, I'm-"

"We're not arguing this!" he barked, "I've been worried about you since the storm hit, and you call me not when you  _start_ searching, but when you're halfway back? And you have the nerve to tell me you're going back out when you're standing there shivering, looking as pale as a goddamn corpse? It's not happening!" He turned away from her. "Mark, kindly get yourself and my daughter to the hospital."

Julie shook her head, reaching out to stall Mark. "Dad, we can't leave R out there!"

"Julie, it's getting dark. Rowan's either found shelter, he's stable and won't be easy to find, or he's still out in it, and it's now a recovery operation, one it'd be useless to attempt at night in this weather. I can't afford to risk anyone else's life in this storm in either case."

"He's not dead!" she cried, frantic to be heard, frantic to be believed, "I know he's not dead!"

"Then keep that as a comfort. We'll send out a squad as soon as the storm lets up, no sooner. I think Mark can see the logic in that." The Colonel tilted his head at R's father.

Mark nodded slightly, though his face was pained as his shoulders slumped forward. Julie watched his resignation, then stared at her dad in disbelief.

"Oh, that's great!" she yelled, "You two can stay here and be all logical about it, I'm going out to find him!"

Turning on her heel, she stormed towards the exit, not sure what her plan was, but absolutely determined to get something, anything, that would get her out there again. If she had to hike out wearing fucking snowshoes she would do it.

"Peterson, Gimmel!" the Colonel roared angrily.

Two of the soldiers in Julie's path stepped forward.

"Escort my daughter to the hospital. Treat her as uncooperative, do not let her leave."

"Yes sir," Peterson answered, and immediately reached out for Julie's arm.

Julie jerked away quickly, and spun in place to dodge his second attempt to grab her, running straight into Gimmel. The soldier's hand closed around her arm tightly.

Gimmel gave an apologetic smirk. "Sorry Julie."

Peterson closed on her other side, and scowling, grabbed her arm so tightly she winced. The excessive force was probably because she'd made him look bad.

Julie gave an experimental tug to see if she could get free, but neither man budged. "Jesus Dad," she muttered, and let them drag her along to a nearby jeep. Peterson climbed in the back with her, and Gimmel took the wheel. As they drove away, Julie watched her dad escort Mark to the patrol car, giving Rowan's father a firm pat on the back, in what was, she guessed, a comforting gesture. Amazing how he could go from having his daughter arrested to showing some heart.

Julie sighed. Of course, she knew her dad was just worried about her, but he really needed to stop pulling this Colonel crap.

As they pulled clear of the armory, she saw something that made her sit up a little straighter in the back of the jeep. A large army green transport vehicle sitting just outside the entrance with a canvas covered cargo bed.

A Deuce. A two and a half ton monster of a truck that could flatten most snow banks with ease.

She grinned. That was going to be her ride out of here and back to the park. She glanced at Peterson. He was looking bored and a little sorry for himself, stuck as he was on babysitting duty. But he was still watching her, like a good soldier, and she knew if she made a run for it now he'd be on her in a moment.

Now was not the time.

Julie sat back and forced herself to relax, and tried not to imagine R buried in snow. A flash of an image came to her then of exactly that - R lying on his back in a foot of snow, slowly disappearing under a blanket of white.

_God... stop! He's alive, I know it!_

Her thoughts turned to the strange looking asshole and the odd trail that had led to his house. Jesus, he'd been such a dick. And those eyes...

She frowned. She'd been more focused on the barrel pointed at her face and R than taking a close look at the guy, but there was something seriously strange there. His eyes looked like the eyes of a corpse.

Newly living? Not quite there?

Creepy. Not very PC of her, but she didn't give a shit. The guy was an ass.

Her mind was still wandering when they pulled into the hospital, and she was stunned to find the place completely packed. Not just with people wrapped in blankets, but folks with injuries that looked a little more serious, broken bones being treated with casts, an occasional head wound. It was crazy.

"I can handle it from here guys, thanks," she snorted, trying to wrench herself free of the soldiers again, but neither was having it.

"Sorry Julie," Gimmel sighed, "We're not letting you leave."

Nora appeared from the outside hallway and walked up, dressed in a blue nurses' shift, carrying a thermometer, and wearing a strange look on her face.

"Nora!" Julie cried, relieved to see her friend. She wanted to give her a hug, but the soldiers held firm. Nora was here? This was perfect! She'd be out of the place in no time!

"Heeey," her friend said, and immediately stuck the thermometer in her mouth.

Julie blinked, "Whada?"

"I'm sorry Jules, but your dad called ahead and threatened to get me kicked off the nursing staff if I did anything funny." She sighed, "Guess he still hasn't forgiven me for sticking that gun in his back."

"Awwmaaam," Julie moaned, and rolled her eyes. Her goddamned father!

The thermometer beeped and Nora pulled it back to check the reading. Her expression grew serious, "In this case he's doing the right thing. I'd need to recheck with something a little more accurate, but your temperature is ridiculously low."

Julie sighed. She didn't have time for this.

"Nora... R is out there, I have to get to him."

Her friend's eyes softened. "I know that Jules, but you can't go like this. Let's get you warmed up. I'm not even talking for your dad right now. You need to do this for me. Okay?"

Nodding in resignation, Julie let herself be led by her friend, flanked by Peterson and Gimmel, to one of the cots crowding the largest room at the clinic. Sitting down grumpily, she dutifully accepted the wool blanket offered, a tight blood pressure cuff and the second thermometer reading.

"Jules... when's the last time you ate or had any fluids?" Nora asked, her tone suggesting she was less than impressed by the readings she was getting.

Julie frowned, and shivered into her blanket. "Um... this morning?"

Nora made an aggravated sound, and disappeared for a while, taking the thermometer and cuff with her.

Julie looked up at the two guards. "Guys, I'm the only one here with a military presence, it's a little embarrassing."

"Not just for you," Peterson shot back, looking down at her in irritation.

She gave up speaking to them, and nestled into the blanket a little more. In truth, she was starting to feel better. Clearer.

Nora reappeared with a mug of something and a couple of protein bars. "Here, drink, eat."

Rolling her eyes, she took them from her friend. "Why is the answer always protein bars... I am so sick of these things!" Then she curled her hands around the mug. It was wonderfully warm, and smelled just like... "Hot chocolate!"

Nora grinned. "You wouldn't believe how many boxes of that stuff we have here. Course, it's all out of date, but still tastes pretty good."

Taking an experimental sip, Julie smiled, "Ooh, that's so good." Then she leaned in closer and kept her voice at a whisper, "Nora... you have to get me out of here."

Gimmel bent down between them. "We can  _hear_ you," he whispered, then stood up again.

Nora smirked, "Nothing doing Jules. Warm up first. You're not going to help R by running out there and freezing to death."

"Fine," Julie muttered icily, and slurped up some more cocoa. Tears flooded her eyes unbidden. "He's alive Nora... he's not dead."

Nora held Julie's hands around the cup and her big almond eyes grew soft, "If you feel that Julie, then it's got to be true."

Julie wiped away the threatening tears and smiled. "Thanks."

Nora grinned, "Now if you'll excuse me, I've gotta do the nurse thing. I'll come back in a few, okay?"

Nodding, Julie gave her friend an appreciative smile, and returned to her cocoa, her thoughts tumbling haphazardly. How the hell was she going to get away from here, and get her hands on the Deuce? Where the hell  _was_ R? Would the keys be in the truck? Was that asshole lying when he said he hadn't seen R? Why would he lie? Jesus, when was the last time she'd driven a truck, and how the heck was she going to get it away without them noticing?

Groaning, she placed the mug on the floor under the cot and flopped down on the bed. This was ridiculous. She shouldn't be here. She should be out there finding R.

The warmth from the cocoa was spreading, easing her shivers and bringing feeling back to her fingers, and she sighed, pulling the woolen blanket up around her chin. Maybe she'd just rest for a minute or two, make the guards think she'd dropped off, then she'd be able to get out of here.

Yawning widely, Julie closed her eyes, enjoying the delicious warmth building up inside. As her mind slipped away to true sleep, her thoughts wandered back to the plane, to the words R had said, to the thing he had given her to explain it all.

The little brown bear.

* * *

  _Previous chapter was one of the confronting ones btw. Evan is a very sick boy. You'll see why in the next one._

_If you've got a moment, let me know what you think of the story so far with a comment, or a PM. Thanks :D_


	22. The Rabbit

Evan stared at the toy, sitting lopsided on the top shelf behind the counter of the small store, and smiled.

It was perfect. Rachel would love it. Pulling it down, he quickly tucked it into his jacket pocket, making sure nothing peeked out so he could surprise her with it when they got on their way again.

Grabbing a couple of candy bars from the display as well, he went back down the aisles to find his sister. The place was pretty well stocked considering. Most of the places they'd found had been stripped clean. But this was a mom and pop grocery store tucked down a side street in a mostly residential area, so it'd missed most of the heavy looting.

Everything seemed to have calmed down lately. Wasn't but a month ago that folks were still running around burning things, smashing through store windows to loot stupid shit nobody needed anymore. Those idiots got weeded out pretty quickly. The ones that kept their heads down, kept to themselves and moved quick and quiet, those were the ones that survived, and he was proud to be one, and proud to have kept his sister safe throughout it all.

Of course, he'd had to protect her from zombies, and he'd worked hard to teach her how to protect herself, though she didn't really have the stomach for killing. He found he did. Zombies were easy, he could hear them coming usually, a couple of hits to the head with the machete worked great. He kept the gun for the human monsters, the looters in the first few weeks, the bandits since then. Evan found he could kill a man easily, if he needed killing.

Even if they were family.

That had been his biggest source of pride, saving his sister from the worst monster he knew. His father had kicked him around his whole life, almost killed him once, and drove his mom to an early grave. Evan had come close to ending the man a few times, but his sister's love for her father had held him back. Rachel meant the world to Evan, so he'd endured the asshole as best he could.

Then he'd seen something change in his dad as Rachel grew older, something in the way the old man looked at her, the way he held her as they hugged, touched her on the face, the shoulder, that twisted something inside Evan bad.

The zombie crap had been the perfect excuse to do something about it.

Rachel didn't know. Well, she knew their dad was dead, but she thought a corpse had done it, and that was just fine with him. It was nice not to have to hide the body. He just left it outside for the zombies and in the morning there wasn't much to see at all.

 _Bastard._ Thinking about his father made him bury his nails in his palm, and he had to take a moment to come up out of that rage. After a few steadying breaths, he stared down the aisle at his sister, who was trying vainly to reach for a solitary can on the topmost shelf.

Smiling fondly, he walked up and pulled the can off of the shelf for her, taking a look at the label.

"Sliced beets huh?"

Rachel made a face. "Aww, really? I couldn't see the label. Bleah."

Grinning, Evan reached out and pulled the brim of her hat down. At nine years old his sister came just up to his midriff, and he was constantly teasing her about her height. Six years separated them and he was already tall for his age.

"Hurry up and have that growth spurt already," he snorted, then dropped the can in the duffel with the rest of the stuff they'd scavenged. "Food is food Rach, this is a good find."

Rachel smiled up at him from under the lowered brim. "You can have it aaaall to yourself."

Evan laughed, and shouldered the heavy bag. "Did you see anything else?"

"Some stale bread," she answered. "Some really moldy cakes, got a couple of cans of spaghetti."

Evan grinned at her. "Score!"

"I miss meatloaf," Rachel said suddenly, staring at the can in her hand. "Like... just out of the oven, with the ketchup all burnt on the top, and gravy... with mashed potatoes and butter..."

Evan's mouth flooded suddenly, "Rach, stop."

"I want something hot to eat so bad," she sighed, and shoved the can into her backpack.

He stared at her for a moment, his mind thinking over some options, looking for some way to get her what she wanted. They'd been keeping a low profile on their way into the city, keeping on their feet, and usually that meant eating things straight out of the can, cold, wherever they ended up for the night.

But maybe they could do something special tonight. Maybe not push on so hard. Maybe he could get her a hot meal, on a real plate... Maybe somebody had a pet rabbit they'd left behind or something. Jesus, even a dog. As long as she didn't find out where it came from, that'd work...

"What?" she said, noticing the big smile on his face.

"Nothing," he answered, still smiling. "C'mon, lets get out of here."

They left the store and continued down the road, as a slight breeze stirred dead leaves over the pavement before them. The sun was high over their heads, casting everything in flat shades, making the deserted houses around them squat and ugly, with dark windows like watchful eyes. They reached a bus stop that still had some fool corpse sitting next to an overflowing trashcan, waiting for a bus that would never come. A real dead corpse, its innards spilled out over its lap and drooping in dried black ropes towards the ground.

"Oh god," Rachel moaned, "He smells so baad."

"Don't look at him sis."

Then the corpse's head lifted and he realized it wasn't truly dead after all. Rachel jumped back with a small cry.

Evan wasted no time, taking three long strides over to the zombie as it struggled to rise through its own viscera, and with an angry swing embedded the machete in the side of its head.

The thing dropped to the ground without a sound, and Evan stood on the corpse's back to wiggle the blade free before wiping it on the man's jacket.

"You okay sis?" he called, looking down at the corpse. It was definitely one of the grossest zombies he'd ever seen.

"Yeah." Rachel's voice was quiet behind him, and he turned to look at her. She was staring down at the dead man. "Poor guy," she said softly.

Evan shook his head, "Poor nothing. He would have killed you easy sis."

She punched him playfully on the arm, "Not that easy!"

He laughed. "Real easy! One bite and you'd be done!" Raising his arms, he did his best dead guy impersonation, and stumbled down the street after her as she took off giggling.

Eventually the game fell away from them and they continued up the street in silence. He kept a look out for a suitable place to stop for the day as the wind picked up and the air grew chilly, and a hopeful eye out for any animals of any kind. But nothing felt quite right, and the only critters he saw were small sparrows which he had no hope in hell of catching.

"Aww," Rachel said, and pointed a little further up the road, "that's a pretty color for a house."

A couple of doors up on the left was a two story house the color of a light blue sky, with white trim around the door and windows, and a front lawn covered in dying roses. Sitting out on the sidewalk was a red letterbox.

Evan turned and took in the rest of the street. All of the other houses were variations of grey, white or beige. Funny how he hadn't noticed just how bland they all looked.

He turned back and smiled. It was perfect.

"Let's go check it out," he said, giving Rachel a pat on the shoulder.

She seemed surprised. "Really? But it's still early?"

Evan grinned. "I thought we'd take it easy tonight, maybe start a fire, cook something up." Even saying it made his mouth water.

Rachel's eyes grew wide, "Really?!"

"Yeah, we're not far from the city now, we can rest here tonight, get going early."

"Yay!" Grinning, she threw her arms around his chest in a big hug.

He smiled and hugged her back, "Let's see what it's like inside, okay?"

They walked up the lawn past the rose bushes, and Rachel took one of the wilting buds in her hands, cupping it to her face. "It still smells lovely," she said with a smile, as the petals fell away through her fingers.

The front door was locked, and Evan peered in through a side window to check it out. Old fashioned wall paper, lots of floral upholstered furniture, photos cramming the walls, it was an old folks place, that was obvious. Nobody was home that he could see, but he didn't feel like breaking the door to get inside. At least, not the front door.

"Hey! They had chickens!" Rachel yelled from somewhere around the side of the house.

Leaving the window, Evan walked around past a well-stocked wood shed to the back yard. The yard was huge, bigger than most of the neighbors, and Evan figured perhaps these folks were the original owners of the land here and they'd sold off other lots. Suburbia must have just sprung up around them.

Rachel was standing next to an old chicken coop, enclosed in chicken wire, with a wooden ramp leading up to the small roost. Evan's hopes raised for just a moment till he saw the door leaning open and the carcasses lying in the dirt inside.

Dogs or zombies he guessed.

"Damn," he muttered out loud. Roast chicken would have been amazing.

"Yeah, that's so sad," Rachel said with a sigh, completely misunderstanding his meaning.

The chickens were quickly forgotten when he saw that the rest of the yard was filled with fruit trees, though most of the fruit had fallen and was rotting on the ground. Evan walked over to a tree that still had a few clinging stubbornly to its branches and pulled one free, giving it a sniff.

"Apples!" Rachel cried, running over and trying to reach another.

"Hold on sis, let me check them first." It smelled okay, so he took a tiny bite and quickly grimaced. "Yuck... really sour."

"Can you get that one for me?" Rachel asked, pointing to a bright red one.

Evan plucked it off and handed it to her. She took a big bite and a wide smile spread on her face.

"This one's yummy." She held it out to him. "Here, you have to try it."

It was much better than his, and he smiled down at her, happy she'd shared. Quickly pulling the rest off the tree, he marveled at the yard around them. The place was basically a farm. Food growing on trees, and a tall fence almost all the way around the place. It was perfect!

There was a flash of movement towards the far end of the yard, and he frowned, watching for the slow shambling form of any corpse that might have smelled them and come through a hole somewhere.

Not catching sight of it again, Evan shrugged it off and returned to picking apples.

After gathering all the fruit they could carry, they went to the back door, and while it was locked, he knew he'd have no problem breaking in. The back door was a lot easier to defend that the front, so busting the lock didn't bother him as much.

Evan forcefully shouldered it open, and staggered inside, to find himself standing in a mud room leading to the kitchen. He froze for a moment, listening to the house, for any response to the noise he'd just made, but he heard and saw nothing and they continued quietly on into the kitchen.

"Oh wow," Rachel said with a giggle, "They really liked apples."

Every cabinet around them was painted bright pink, with red apple shaped wooden handles. Apple print curtains hung in the large window over the sink and a plastic apple tablecloth covered the little wooden breakfast table against the far wall, under a framed picture.

A framed picture of apples.

"Whoa," Evan said slowly.  _Weird._

After dropping his stash on the counter, Evan signaled for Rachel to stay put while he searched the rest of the first floor. She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, but grudgingly listened, and he moved through the living room, noting the flowery couch and big fireplace. A great place to cook if the stove had run out of gas.

_Plenty of wood outside too._

The owners were definitely older folks. Lots of fake flowers, doilies, knick knacks, dust. Tons of pictures of big family gatherings. One in particular stood out, with everyone sporting brightly colored clothing and big eighties hair. They all seemed to be looking anywhere but at the camera, and two kids in the front row were crying.

Evan moved on and discovered the door to the basement. The room was crowded with junk, smelled like dead mice, but would be perfect for a quick retreat if they were attacked suddenly.

"Everything's clear down here Rach!" he called back over his shoulder, as he turned from the living room to the front hallway. "I'm going to check upstairs."

"Okay," he heard her reply.

The smell drifted to him about half way up - a sour smell of death. Cautiously, machete raised, he walked down the carpeted hallway, poking his head into each of the rooms as he went. Two were smaller bedrooms with a single bed, with the same heavy floral patterns on the curtains and bedding. The first door on the right led to a bathroom, where a couple of small spiders lurked in the sink.

The smell was definitely coming from the room at the end of the hall. Evan walked up to it, slowly turned the handle, and peered in.

Two bodies lay on the master bed. Evan recognized them immediately as the elderly owners of the house, having seen them in many of the photos downstairs, surrounded by family.

They looked peaceful, almost as if they were sleeping, and weren't long dead, as best he could guess. Not too swollen, and the smell wasn't as bad as it could be. The man was wearing an old grey suit with a navy tie, and the lady a flowery yellow sundress with white strappy sandals.

A bottle of pills lay on its side on one of the nightstands nearby.

"Huh," he whispered, staring down at the bodies.

"Smells up here..." Rachel said quietly, squeezing by his side against the door frame. Then she saw them. "Oh!"

He looked down at her. "Sis, you were supposed to wait for the all clear!"

"I know. I got bored," she answered, still staring at the dead couple. Her eyes were thoughtful as she took in the scene. "They look... peaceful."

Evan turned back and nodded. "Yeah, guess they offed themselves, you see the pills?"

"Yeah, that's sad."

Evan shrugged. "I dunno. They went out together, quiet, in bed. Not ripped apart and eaten. If I was going to do it, that'd be the way to go."

Rachel smacked him on the arm. "Don't talk like that."

He jerked back. "What? I was just saying!"

"Well don't say stuff like that. It's sad. And dumb. And stupid." She turned, her bottom lip trembling, and headed back for the stairs.

Evan stared after her as her footsteps thundered down the stairwell, not understanding why she'd been so upset.

Glancing back at the couple on the bed, he closed the door quietly, then shook his head at himself for doing so. Wasn't like they'd notice. But it felt... respectful. Then he ran after his sister.

"Rach! Wait up!" He called, and caught up to her just as she was heading into the kitchen. "Hey..."

"I don't want to stay here anymore," she said, her arms crossed tightly around herself, her brow lowered darkly over her amber eyes.

Evan crouched down to look at her straight. "Hey... I didn't mean what I said, you know that right?"

Rachel wouldn't look at him. "Yes you did. You can't say things like that. You can't leave me! Mom left, dad left... you can't!"

That was what she was worried about? _Jesus._  "Rachel... I would never leave you." He held her arms, chasing her eyes until she finally looked at him. "NEVER. You got that? Suicide is stupid and I'd never do anything like that, okay?"

With big amber eyes close to tears, she nodded at him and looked down.

"C'mere stupid," he whispered, and pulled her into a tight hug. It felt good.

"M'not stupid," she mumbled into his shoulder.

 _That's more like it._  Evan smirked and turned his head, "You sure?"

Rachel made an annoyed noise and smacked him on the arm again, then burst into giggles. "Shut up."

"Hey," Evan said softly, and pulled away. As she looked at him, he reached down and grabbed the little brown bear from his pocket. He held up to her and smiled. "This is for you."

Rachel's eyes went wide and her face broke into a big smile. "Aww!" She pulled the bear up and squished it against her cheek. "He's so soft!"

He grinned at her reaction. "You like him?"

"I love him Evan, thank you!" She gave him a hug, holding the bear close to her chest.

"You're welcome sis." Evan pulled back. "You still want to leave? I mean, I know we've got dead folks upstairs but I think it helps to hide our smell, and this place is kinda cool. But we can go if you want."

Rachel shook her head, and wiped her eyes with her hand. "No, it's okay, I just got upset." She shrugged, her smile turning into a grin. "And I sort of like apples."

Evan chuckled and stood. "Cool. I'll get some wood for the fire. How 'bout you see what food they have lying around?"

"Okay."

With an affectionate tug on her hat, he moved past her and out the back door. The wind had picked up and his breath left him in a frosty mist as he let out a deep sigh. He had to be more careful about the things he said. It absolutely killed him to see her upset, and it wasn't as if he'd ever really considered suicide. He had too much to live for in Rachel. There was just something... beautiful about the old couple upstairs.

Did that make him weird?

Shrugging over the thought, he turned towards the shed.

A flash of movement caught his eye again.

Evan froze, focusing intently on where he'd seen it, towards the back of the yard. Something small. Then he spotted it again, a little smudge of brown moving against the grey of the fence.

An animal? Heart pumping rapidly, he carefully made his way over the dying grass towards the back fence, past a deeply sagging clothesline and the row of fruit trees. There was another shed in the far back corner, the old grey wooden frame leaning awkwardly, and the door hung open, nudged back and forth by the wind.

From behind the shed hopped the small brown form, its ears twitching back and forth as it froze in place.

Evan's eyes bulged as he came to a complete stop. It was a rabbit.  _A goddamn rabbit!_  His heart danced rapidly in his chest at the thought of catching it. That sucker would make an amazing dinner!

Slowly, carefully, he shifted his hand towards the knife attached to his belt. The rabbit stayed alert, absolutely frozen. Evan froze too, waiting for the little critter to relax enough to drop its head to the grass, and then pulled the blade silently from its leather sheath.

He needed to get closer. Gently, keeping his profile as narrow as possible, he shifted his foot out and gradually moved his weight off his back heel, bringing his arm up to a throwing position. He was able to get three steps in before the skittish mammal looked up again.

With a quick jerk, he let the blade fly, and felt a rush of joy as the blade passed neatly through the lower part of the rabbit's throat. The animal hopped straight up with a wild gurgling scream, twisting in the air as a thin stream of blood sprayed in a wide arc across the grey fence. Landing awkwardly, the rabbit tried to move forward, but ended up tumbling over itself as its back legs jerked in a dying spasm.

Evan walked forward and watched the animal as it twitched on the ground, its blood pouring freely into the brown soil and bubbling with the air escaping its throat. Big brown eyes fixed on him, rimmed in terrified white, and it made another attempt to run, managing only to turn on the spot.

"Shh..." he whispered, and the eyes slowly grew empty as the rabbit died.

With a loud whoop, Evan grabbed the rabbit by the hind legs and hoisted it in the air. Grinning, he ran back to the house, not caring about the blood spattering on the kitchen floor.

Rachel was kneeling on a stool, going through one of the cabinets over the counter.

"Rach! Guess what I found!"

"What?!" she answered excitedly, but her mood changed dramatically as she turned to see what he had. "Awww," she said softly, frowning at the dead animal in his hands.

Evan grinned. "You won't be sad when you eat the guy." Moving to the sink, he propped the animal against the side so the blood could keep draining, then he dug into a nearby drawer for a long knife.

Rachel made a disgusted sound. "You're going to cut into it now aren't you. Ewww."

"Well yeah sis," he said with a smirk, "it's a bit hard to eat the meat otherwise. Unless you like it furry."

"I can't watch." Rachel quickly hopped off the stool and headed into the living room.

"Hey," he called after her, "can you get some wood for the fire? I totally forgot."

"Okay... but I'm going this way, I don't want to see you skin a rabbit."

Evan rolled his eyes, "You should learn sis, it's a good skill to have. And it's sort of fun!"

"And you're sort of weird!" came her voice from the hall, followed by the sound of the front door opening and closing.

Evan shook his head with a grin, then put his mind into his work. Testing the blade against his finger he nodded in satisfaction at the sharpness. The less he had to use his own personal knife the better. Pulling the rabbit out of the sink, he laid it down on the wooden cutting board on top of the kitchen island, and flopped the little critter on its back.

The slit he'd so neatly made in the throat yawned open as the rabbit's head fell back against the board, and he stared down for a minute at the creature, remembering the life he'd seen fade from those brown eyes such a short time ago. It made him think of the couple upstairs. So neatly still, when perhaps a week ago they'd moved around this same space and talked and laughed.

Death was fascinating.

There was a loud sound from the living room and he jumped slightly, looking up to see his sister drop an armful of wood in the holder by the fireplace. She held her hands over her eyes as she turned back.

"You done yet?" she asked through her hands.

"No, I'm just getting started," he answered, and looked back down at the rabbit.

He was only dimly aware of the sound of disgust his sister made as she left the living room, and barely registered the sound of the front door opening again as he pinched the soft belly skin of the rabbit, pulling it away from the stomach meat.

Evan cut through the thin skin, being very careful not to nick the viscera below, and then drew the knife up, slicing through the white fur from the stomach to the gash across the rabbits throat.

He continued to work slowly, enjoying the process, eager to get a clean fur from the animal, and completely absorbed in the structures just below the skin. Once or twice he glanced up at the rabbits intact face, as everything below the throat became exposed, red and glistening. It was a strange contrast, the outside and inside rabbit as one whole.

_Beautiful._

Those big eyes stared up at him, dulled in death, judging him quietly as he pulled the organs free, setting them to one side. They would be delicious fried, and the idea made Evan's mouth water.

Frowning thoughtfully, he stared at the rabbit's face. At those eyes, big and brown. Very much like his sister's. He'd never noticed that before, and he'd killed quite a few rabbits. Smiling, he took the butchers knife from the wood holder on the counter, and with one clean swing, severed the rabbits head.

He'd have to tell his sister she had rabbit eyes. It'd be hilarious. She'd probably just punch him again.

With a chuckle, he stripped the fur from the back of the rabbit, and looked around for a large bowl. He needed to soak the skin, and for that he needed water. If these folks were the original owners of the land here, perhaps they had their own supply?

Flipping the tap up, he was rewarded with a stream of brown water that slowly turned clear, and the sight almost made him cry.

This place was just amazing. Maybe they didn't need to go to the city? Maybe they could just stay here? Why not? It was practically a farm, and it had running water! Grabbing a bowl from the cabinet, Evan filled it, set the fur soaking, then delighted in the feel of running water on his hands as he washed the blood away.

He turned back to admire his handiwork. One perfect skin that just needed cleaning and tanning, a gutted rabbit for roasting, and organs for frying. This was going to be an amazing meal.

Rachel would be thrilled.

"Rach, I'm done!" he called out to the living room, and scoured through the collection of cans she'd pulled from the cupboards to see if there was anything to go with rabbit. Aside from some beans there wasn't much else, so he started looking for dishes he could cook the animal with.

"Sis, you want to start the fire?" he asked loudly.

Then he straightened up from a lower cabinet.

Why hadn't she answered?

Evan walked from the kitchen into the living room. "Rachel?"

She wasn't there. Hadn't she been there a few minutes ago? Wait, how long had he been working on the rabbit?

Leaving the living room, he took the stairs two at a time to the top floor. "Hey Rach, I'm done," he said, poking his head into each of the rooms. He even looked in on the dead couple, thinking perhaps Rachel had come back to see them, but she wasn't there.

She wasn't in the house? Why wasn't she in the house? Unease settled heavy in his gut as Evan raced back down the stairs.

The front door was unlocked. He remembered dimly that she'd gone out that way to get the wood, rather than go through the kitchen when he was working. But she should have locked it when she came back in... why hadn't she locked it?

Because she hadn't come back in?

 _Oh shit._  Evan raced back to the kitchen, passing the remains of the rabbit, and grabbed his machete. With his heart starting to pound in his chest, he rushed out into the back yard.

"Rachel!" he yelled, not caring how scared he sounded. He kept expecting her bright voice to answer, to ask him why he was so worried, but it never came. The yard was silent, save for the wind rustling the few remaining leaves of the fruit trees.

 _Where the fuck_ is  _she?_

Racing around the side of the house to the front yard, Evan scanned the street on either side. It was empty. He ran out into the street and turned in place, his feet still carrying him forward, checking every house for an open door or window. Nothing.

"RACHEL!" he roared, the dread rising to a full panic. She wasn't here! Why wasn't she here? Which way did she go?

Back the way they'd come? His legs kept moving him forward, up the street, to the big white two story house on the corner. He stepped into the middle of the junction, his heart beating frantically.

Fear was turning to anger. What if she was doing this on purpose? "Rachel! If you're hiding!"

Twisting in place he scanned down the new street. More houses stretched off to the left, but at the end of the road to his right, lay a park.

Relief washed through him at the sight. That had to be where she was! Rachel loved parks! She'd spent most of her free time at the one near their old house, feeding the squirrels and birds, climbing the trees.

Evan started to jog towards it, but slowed as he neared, his eyes catching something on the ground just beyond a grey bench.

Something pink.

All the air seemed to leave the space around him in a rush, and his heart trembled suddenly in his chest. That was Rachel... why was she lying on...

"RACHEL!" he screamed, and ran, his legs feeling like awkward pistons beneath him. Why couldn't he move faster?! Everything felt slow and jerky and wrong.

As he neared, his mouth fell open in horror and his mind started stuttering over the sight of his sister, lying on the ground, and the blood...

_Everywhere._

Blood on the bench, under the bench, over her jacket, her face... a pool spreading from her... throat.

Like the rabbit dying at his feet.

"R-rachel?" he stuttered. "W-what...?" He fell hard on his knees beside her, and reached out, but stopped short of her, unable to understand what he was seeing, why she was lying there, her throat...

Her throat... torn open, not cut. Bitten,  _eaten._

Her eyes...  _rabbit eyes._

Someone was screaming next to him, someone very close by, and it sounded like him, but it couldn't be, because he wasn't screaming was he? Why would he scream? She was just...

_...resting._

_Dead. She's dead._

_NO. NO. NO._ Something clicked off in Evan's mind, and the screaming came to an abrupt end.

Pulling Rachel's body up off the ground, Evan rested her gently against his chest, ignoring her cool skin, her absolute stillness. Stroking her hair softly, he murmured into her ear, trying to reassure her that everything was okay. That it was alright for her to wake up now, whoever had done this to her was gone, and she was safe now. Big brother was here.

Water was dripping down his face, falling in warm drops against his hand, but he looked up and it wasn't raining. He wiped his hand across his eyes, but his hand was covered in blood  _rabbit blood_ , so he used his sleeve.

"Sis, you have to wake up now, we have to get home for dinner," he whispered into her ear, and the heaviest sigh he'd ever breathed in his life left him long and slow.

Rachel stirred in his arms.

"There you go," he mumbled into her hair, smiling now because it was okay. She was okay.

Her movements against him were slow and jerky, and something gurgled oddly in her throat.

_Just like the rabbit._

Evan shook his head firmly, and the action seemed to wake his sister further, she twisted against his grasp, her arms flailing, the hands oddly grey and curled, pulling at his head and hair.

_Jesus, she's angry._

"I'm sorry Rach, I know you love the park, but we have to leave. C'mon," he said, and stood, pulling her up as she bucked and struggled against him, desperately trying to turn around as she made that terrible sound from her throat.

 _Her throat..._ His mind stuttered, and the horror crept back on him slowly, as he heard her teeth clacking together inches from the arm he held around her chest.

"No!" he yelled at himself, shaking his head against the stupid thoughts disturbing his calm. His sister needed him right now and he had to keep it together!

Jesus, she was strong! "Sis! Stop it! We've got to get back!"

Finally, he wrestled both of her arms under his own, and dragged her down the street and around the corner to the house.

The door was still open, and he struggled with his sister up the lawn, past the dead roses, and in through the doorway. For a moment, he stood there, holding her thrashing body, not knowing what the hell to do.

He'd never seen her so angry, and he didn't know how to make her feel better.

Pressing his head up against hers, he started whispering to her again. "I'm sorry sis, I should have been there, I never should have let you leave. You have to forgive me..." but it had no effect, if anything making her more frantic to turn and face him.

So he let her, pushing her from him into the hallway.

The sight of her turned his mouth to ash.

Rachel's face was twisted, her mouth a dark circle surrounding blackened gums and teeth. Her skin was grey, bloodless, like a fish pulled out of the deepest ocean.

And her eyes, were no longer the eyes of a rabbit.

They were the eyes of a wolf.

Something pushed to the front of Evan's mind, some semblance of reality and understanding, and he started to sob in front of her, tears falling down along his jaw and pattering on the wooden floor.

"Oh god... I'm so sorry... sis..." he cried, his world crashing down hard around him, the joke that was this home, the meal he'd been readying for her, the life they were going to have together.

It was all gone.

She came for him then, and he didn't fight her at first, feeling separated from himself as she knocked him to the ground. She hovered over his face, her nostrils flaring as she took in his scent, and something stirred in him, seeing the stairs leading up the room where the owners were sleeping the final sleep.

Suicide. He was committing suicide. And he'd promised her...

"No!" he shouted, and using his legs, he pushed her violently away. She tumbled with the force of his kick into the living room, and he jumped up, looking around frantically for anything he could use to subdue her. There were ropes around the drapes, and he ran for them as she rose awkwardly to her feet and swiveled to follow his movements.

With fumbling speed, he pulled the rope free, just as she landed on him, knocking him against the wall headfirst.

"Rachel, STOP IT!" he screamed, and swung back to punch her hard in the face.

It was like hitting a slab of meat from the fridge. Evan shuddered, his mind slipping, not understanding why he'd done that.

_I just punched my own sister, what the hell's wrong with me?_

Rachel's head turned back from his blow and she hissed at him, some of the sound bubbling from the black wound in her neck.

Evan's mind gibbered and broke.

"I-I didn't mean to hit you sis," he said in a small voice, that hovered on the verge of tears, "I just... you're overreacting and you need to calm down."

Her head tilted oddly as he spoke, and he gave a weak smile, feeling as if he was finally getting through to her. "Yeah, just like that... hey, where's your bear? You love that bear, it made you happy before, where is it?"

His sister stared at him, her eyes wide and intent on his mouth as he spoke, but she didn't answer. He glanced down at her pockets, but they were empty.

"Did you lose it at the park?" he blurted, feeling a strange anger rising inside. "Rachel, I just got that for you! How could you lose it?!"

Now he was going to have to go back and find it. Dammit!

Suddenly, with a strangled moan, she launched herself at him again, her fingers curled like claws. Evan roared, his muscles jerking into action, and swung wildly at her, catching his sister against the side of the head and sending her flying to the floor. Jumping on her as she fell, he worked frantically to secure the rope around her arms and waist.

"I'm SORRY!" he shouted as she screeched and jerked beneath him. "This is for your own good!"

Stumbling to his feet he ran to another drape and yanked the rope free, then came back to tie her legs as she struggled to rise. The deed done, he fell back onto his knees, exhaustion stealing the life from his limbs, and sat beside her as she stilled, her wolfish eyes fixed on his own.

"God... Rach... I can't..." he started, a desperate yawning despair pulling at his heart. The thoughts slipped from his mind as he stared back into those eyes.

"Are you in there sis?" he asked quietly, then shook his head, not understanding why he'd asked that.

God, he was so tired. Frowning at her, the anger rising again, he got to his feet. "You know, I was going to cook you a rabbit tonight Rach," he snapped, "but you've been such a brat, you're not getting any of it."

A wet rasp emerged from her throat and her teeth clacked sharply.

"Yeah? Well you should have thought of that before!" he barked, then stormed off into the kitchen.

Evan stood there, looking at the bloody mass of meat and organs on the kitchen island, and the severed rabbit head staring blankly at him.

Everything had turned wrong. It was all wrong. With a roar of rage, he snatched the rabbit head from the island and threw it against the far wall.

It bounced off with a dull thud, leaving a red splatter against the bone-white surface.

Grabbing a bowl from the cabinet, he dumped the organs in it, and the rabbit head from the floor, and walked out to the living room.

"You want to act like an animal, you can eat like one," he snarled, and dropped the bowl beside her head. Then he turned away and started to build the fire, finally lighting it with some newspaper shoved under the thicker logs. It went up easily, the wood had been good and dry, and he sat back on his legs, losing himself in the dance of the licking flames.

The warmth felt good, and he looked over at his sister, starting to feel sorry for how he'd treated her. It was his fault for letting her leave the house. He never should have let her out of his sight.

Well that was never going to happen again.

The clacking of her teeth broke him from his thoughts, and he watched as she tried to reach the bowl, but couldn't.

Evan walked over to face her, then lifted her up against the couch. She jerked under his hands, writhing to bite him, as blackened blood bubbled from the wound in her neck.

Grabbing the bowl, he sat across from her, feeling again that desperate sadness that he couldn't quite place. The sadness that sat at the edge of him, wanting to swallow him whole. He shook it off. Rachel was hungry. That was obvious. He had to focus on that.

"You want this?" he asked, holding up the tiny rabbit heart, no bigger than the end of his thumb. Her eyes never left his.

"This?" he asked again, holding up a liver, then a kidney. Rachel stared at him, her mouth working slowly as she groaned.

Then he pulled the rabbit head from the bowl by the ears, swinging it around in his hand. Nostrils flaring briefly, she focused on it, following the arc of the head as it moved through the air.

Evan frowned. "Yeah?" Her eyes fell from the head the moment he spoke, and refocused on him.

_Wolf eyes._

Rachel was a wolf now, not a rabbit, and he knew what she wanted. As the big brother it was up to him to provide it.

He pulled out his skinning knife and removed his shirt and jacket, then tugged on the soft skin of his stomach, pulling it clear of the meat underneath.

Then he drove his blade through the flesh and up, grunting at the sudden rush of vivid agony from his body as warm blood poured over his skin.

Rachel was making a soft keening noise, watching as he plunged the knife in deeper, snapping through the joints of his sternum, the blood pulsing out over his hands and the floor. With a wretched scream, he pulled his own ribcage open and fell back against the floor, feeling the tremble of his heart sac against the open air.

With a hungry screech, his sister broke the ropes binding her hands, and fell on him, burying her face in his chest as her teeth tore through the quivering muscle of his exposed heart.


	23. The Comfort

Evan screamed, his jaws impossibly wide, beyond agony.

And woke up.

The scream echoing in the bedroom around him, Evan curled in on himself on the bed, grasping his chest with a trembling hand as he blinked against the darkness, tears spilling from his eyes.

"Guh..." he moaned, unable to frame words, unable to think, reduced to raw shaking terror by the dream.

Slowly, his breathing calmed as the nightmare drew away from his body and mind. He rolled back against his pillow, his eyes wide, focused blankly on the ceiling he was just starting to see.

"Fuck," he moaned.

Images rushed back over him, of that day, of that moment, his sister lying... her throat...

With a rough growl, Evan jerked up and swiveled his legs off the bed, squeezing the edge of the mattress hard between his fingers.

The moment rushed him again, and he curled in on himself, clasping his head in his arms, clenching his teeth against the visions.

But they wouldn't stop. Reaching to his side table, he fumbled around for his knife, then pulled it close, staring at the tip of it in the weak ambient light of the room before slowly drawing the blade hard across his exposed forearm, cutting through the pale skin.

The pain was immediate, only a shallow echo of what he'd felt in the dream, but it focused him on the present, pulling him from the threatening thoughts and feelings.

Feeling calmer, Evan dropped the blade on the nightstand and stood, his legs shaky, and walked to the bathroom to dress the wound.

The person who looked back at him from the mirror looked so strange. So different than he'd looked on that day. The shock of... it... had turned his hair white. He'd lost a lot of weight, because his diet had... it was harder to find food, and his eyes...

Evan leaned forward to look at them closely. He wasn't sure when that had happened, though he'd noticed it a long while ago. He was pretty sure his eyes used to be blue, but maybe not.

It didn't matter.

Walking into the hallway to return to his room, Evan turned right instead, heading to his sister's room at the end of the hall. Gently twisting the knob, he cracked the door open, poking his head into the dark room.

"Sis? You awake?" he whispered into the darkened space.

There was an answering hiss, and he heard her shuffling forward.

With a sigh, he moved to the bars, and slid down until he was sitting, resting his cheek against the cool metal. He could see her feet now, her form appearing from the dark as his eyes adjusted.

"I had a nightmare sis," he said with another sigh, and closed his eyes.

He felt her lowering beside him, on the other side of the bars, and she made a low keening moan.

Tears welled in his eyes at the sound, and he squeezed them tightly, not wanting them.

Cold, dry, thin hands gently grasped his forearm, and Evan's eyes slowly opened as she pulled his arm through the bars.

Rachel had done this many times before, but it always made him edgy, because her mood could change so quickly. He kept himself calm, kept his heartbeat steady, and watched her through the bars as she lifted his arm to her mouth and slowly drew her dark tongue across the bleeding wound.

He'd meant to dress that. Why didn't he do that?

The wound started to feel cold, as it always did when she did this, and he closed his eyes, allowing the chills to shiver through his body towards his heart, slowing it steadily until he finally, carefully, pulled his arm away.

The keening cry changed to a soft contented hiss, and Evan smiled. It always seemed to make her happy when he came to her like this. When he couldn't take his own thoughts. Being with her made him feel better too. Different. Calmer. Still.

_Empty._

Rising to his feet, feeling a slight dizziness that took a few moments to shake as he leaned against the bars, Evan left his sister's room and headed back to his own.

He fell bonelessly into bed, the lingering cold still tracing the branches of his heart as he sank into a mindless void.


	24. The Rescue Begins

Julie stirred from a strange dream about rabbits, and shifted slowly onto her side.

A frown played across her brow as she became more aware of what she was lying on, slowly realizing that she wasn't in her bed at home. This felt harder, the blanket rough and thin, and she could hear breathing and snoring around her.

Julie's eyes flicked open and she stared into the dimly lit room for a moment, completely disoriented.

People lay in cots scattered throughout the large space, some with fluids on IV, all covered in blankets. Through a small window against the far wall she could see snow falling in the pale orange light of a streetlamp.

_I'm in the hospital._

Julie jerked up in the cot, her mind suddenly snapping into sharp focus, her body flooding with the feeling that something was wrong. What the hell!? What time was it? How long had she been here?

She'd just meant to rest, not fall asleep!  _Shit!_

Julie twisted on the bunk, searching for her armed guard, but they were gone. A person she didn't recognize was sitting at the desk across the room, highlighted sharply by a single lamp, head bent to her task.

_Now's my chance._

Slowly, Julie slid off the cot, taking the blanket with her, and crept between the other bunks on her way to the door. She was still watching the woman at the desk, making sure she hadn't been seen, when she bumped into a pair of legs.

Julie looked up.

Stephen stood in the doorway looking down at her, his arms crossed as he leaned against the doorjamb.

"Hi Julie," he said with a bemused, if tired, smile. "Weren't you asleep a few minutes ago?"

Her heart fell. Was he going to try and keep her here?

"I feel fine," she answered.

"Well that's good... but it doesn't explain where you're going at four in the morning."

Julie sighed, she couldn't take fighting for this anymore. "Stephen, please let me leave. I need to find R."

"At four in the morning? Why don't you just wait for the squad?"

She frowned, her frustration coming to a head, "Dad won't send anyone out until the storm's over, and that's going to be too late - R needs me now."

"And you know he's alive?" Stephen asked bluntly.

What he was implying with that question shook her physically. Did she? He'd been out there most of the day and night now, how did she know he wasn't buried under snow somewhere?

Julie searched herself for that feeling, that utter certainty she'd felt before, and found it again, a deeply solid assurance, an awareness of the man she loved. Alive. Near the park.

She lifted her eyes and smiled, no longer frustrated or afraid. "Yes."

Stephen's smile grew, and he nodded slightly. "Come on then," he said softly, and turned into the hallway.

Julie blinked. Had she finally reached someone? Someone finally believed her? Or was he just going to lock her in his office until the sun came up?

The door to the lobby stood at the end of the hall, and Julie considered running for a moment, until Stephen popped back out of his office holding something.

"Here," he said, handing her a thick green woolen hat and black shell gloves. "Wear these."

Julie almost cried, taking the clothing slowly, gratefully. "Thank you," she said quietly. He'd believed her. He was helping her!

She threw her arms around him and gave him a big hug. "Thank you for believing me."

Stephen returned the hug then took the hat and pulled it over her head. "It's easy to believe in you two," he said with a warm smile. "Go and find him Julie. Bring him back."

Julie's face broke into a bright grin, and she quickly darted forward to give him a kiss on the cheek. "I will."

Then she turned and rushed out the door into the swirling storm.

* * *

_If you've made it this far, awesome. The chapter before the previous chapter was the longest in the entire story. Quite a bit to wade through, but important, as is the last one. I could go off about Evan here, his motivations, what he's been through and how it broke him, what both chapters mean (he's infected, but not?), but I reckon I'll just let the story unfold, and leave it be. ;)_

_We return to R in the next chapter, and I'll post that tomorrow._

_As always, thanks for reading, and if the story is making you think/feel/angry/happy/bored, let me know in a comment! ;)_


	25. The Nightmare

R opened his eyes.

The sun was shining. The warmth of it tingled over his skin as he sat on the grey bench at the edge of the park. The trees were swaying in the warm spring breeze, full and green, and the sounds of bird song and laughter carried to him across the wide expanse of lush grass, spotted with yellow dandelions, as he watched a young family playing around an old oak tree.

A black lab sat nearby, his leash tied to a 'No Dogs Allowed' sign, next to an abandoned red bicycle. The dog watched him, panting, occasionally glancing over at the family as a child let loose with wild laughter.

"Hey buddy," R said, smiling. The dog tilted its head to the side and stared back.

R sighed and closed his eyes, leaning back on the bench as he soaked in the glow of the bright midday sun. The golden light sank in deep, thawing the deep chill at the core of his being.

It just felt good to be warm again.

"Hi Rowan," came a quiet voice to his left.

R turned his head. Beside him on the bench sat the young girl with bright brown eyes and curly auburn hair, cascading in a wild mass around her face. The sunlight made her pink jacket glow, as she played with the little brown bear in her hands.

R's heart sank.

"Crap," he muttered and flopped back against the bench. For a few bright moments he'd thought this was real, the sunshine, the happy family, the goofy dog.

But it was just the fucking dream again.

"What are you going to do to me this time?" he snapped. "Bite my head off?" Brow furrowed in irritation, he slouched deeper against the bench.

The girl just laughed, and the sun seemed to flare in brightness and warmth. "No silly. I'm just glad you're here now. I was really worried you wouldn't make it."

R glanced over at her. Her smile was bright and sincere, and he suddenly felt bad for snapping.

"Sorry," he said with a sigh, and turned his face towards the sun again, determine to draw every bit of warmth he could from the dream while it lasted. He had been too cold before. Bitterly cold, and never wanted to feel that way again.

"That's okay. I haven't been very nice." She sighed, glancing down at the bear. "It's not all me doing that to you though. The dark thing makes me do things I don't want to do."

R frowned and looked over at her, "The dark thing?"

She nodded, "It doesn't like you very much."

A cloud drifted across the sun, snatching back the warmth he'd been basking so deliciously in. He straightened on the bench, his stomach twisting.

The dark thing. Was she talking about that creature he'd fought in his dream in the hospital? The thing Julie had said had taken him over? The thing that looked like a boney?

He'd never really been sure what to think about that moment in the hospital. Julie had described it in detail of course, and he remembered wrestling with a boney in his head. But he'd come to see it as a personality he'd manifested for the disease, to better wrap his brain around it. When he'd forced it out of himself, it had been because his body had beaten the infection.

But what if it wasn't just a disease? What if it was an actual entity, something with a mind, with a will, driving this whole thing?

"It's in my brother too," the girl continued. "He used to be nice. But it's been twisting him... changing him. He does very bad things now." As she spoke, her voice became a whisper, and R wrapped his arms around himself as the sunshine grew pale and thin.

 _Uh oh._ This was where things usually went very bad, wasn't it?

_Shit._

She suddenly reached out to grasp his arm, her eyes wide and intent. "Rowan, you have to promise me," she pleaded, and he instinctively tried to pull himself away, fearful of what would happen next. "Promise me you'll find some way to save him. After you kill me, find a way to save him."

R blinked, horrified.  _Kill her?_  She wanted him to kill her? After all this?

While he hadn't had much of a plan aside from finding her, there'd always been a part of him that thought he could help in some way. To somehow make up for what he'd done, everything he'd done - all of the terrible hurt he'd caused, by helping her.

And she just wanted to die? No way!

"I'm not going to kill you," he snapped, jerking his arm out of her grasp.

"But... you  _have_ to Rowan," she answered softly. "That's why you're here."

R shook his head frantically, "No, I'm here to help, not kill you. I'm not killing anyone. I've done too much of that."

Rachel's eyes welled with tears, and R shivered, suddenly terribly cold. Looking out at the park he saw why. Grey clouds had swallowed the sun, draining the color from everything around them.

A terrible dread engulfed him. Jesus, he couldn't feel cold again, he just couldn't. Not like that, the chill that had just eaten him, stripped him of thought and care. Whittled him down to nothing.

_Dear god... please don't let me be that cold again._

"Stop making it cold, please," he whispered, still shivering.

The girl took his arm again, gently. "You can't save me Rowan, I know you want to, but you can't. You can save my brother though. Promise me you will."

R stared at her for a moment, then nodded with a sigh. "I'll try, okay? But I'm not killing you."

She frowned and shook her head, "You won't have a choice. I'm not like this anymore. I'm just an echo watching from somewhere very dark and very far away. I don't even know how this happened," she gestured to the space around them. "There was just a little bit of light, so I followed it, and found you. I got in your head, tried to talk to you, but got trapped in your memories. I'm somewhere I don't understand and I'm tired. I don't want to hurt people anymore. I hear them screaming and I can't stop."

A tear trailed down her cheek as her skin turned ashen. Dark shadows swallowed her eyes as they turned wolfish and alien, and the hand on his arm grew cold.

" ... please stop me..." she whispered, in a voice as dry as bone.

"Jesus!" he yelled, and frantically tried to release the girl's icy grip on his arm. Fear thundered in his chest as the world around them grew darker, colder and dead. The family disappeared, their laughter lost as a sigh in the wind. The dog was snarling at the sky, its exposed insides raw and glistening.

_Fuck, wake up! Now!_

But he couldn't. The world pressed in on him, too real and immediate, too bitingly cold to ignore.

The girl's head tilted suddenly and she shuddered, her wolfish eyes widening in terror.

"... oh god... it's here... I can't..."

She screamed then, a sound that rose to an inhuman screech as her head jerked back and her mouth opened impossibly wide.

The dead skin of her face split violently as something black and withered pushed through, its jagged teeth gnashing the air as it clawed its way out of the girl's now shredded corpse.

R jerked back, a wild scream escaping his throat, and found himself trapped in the thing's grip as it rose from the bench to tower over him.

It was a nightmare, a thing of twisted bone and blackened flesh stretched over something that had only the faintest resemblance to a human skeleton. Jagged, jutting angles of bone protruded from every limb. Its eyeless skull swiveled towards him as it straightened, pulling R to his feet as he tried to wrest his arm free.

The air around R grew colder and rank with the stench of decay as it slowly drew him in, the thing's impossibly long, thin hand burning like ice against his skin, siphoning the heat from his body.

A voice of grinding stone emerged from the dark maw of the creature, through jagged teeth wrapped in shriveled flesh.

_" **...hello again...** "_

The air snapped with frost as it spoke, and R's panicked breaths drifted like lost ghosts before his face. The terrible chill at his core was growing as the creature held him fast, and he closed his eyes, trying desperately to ignore the pain of the thing's touch, trying to reject the reality his senses were drenched with.

_WAKE THE FUCK UP!_

_" **...no... I think not...** "_

R yelled, his eyes popping open, as the creature's grasp tightened like a trap around his forearm and it drew him closer still. He cringed back from the thing's face as it leered down towards his own, his heart thudding desperately in his frozen chest. The black pits of its eye sockets yawned before him like hungry mouths.

 _" **...you stole... so many from me...** "_ it snarled, lips pulling back from jagged teeth, " _ **...you will not... take these two...** "_

_" **...they are MINE...** "_

The creature's other arm shot out, moving so swiftly R had no time to react, and its skeletal hand closed about his throat, the brittle fingers like daggers of ice against his flesh.

R choked, and desperately tried to pry himself free as the thing lifted him from the ground. The creature's fingers were frozen around his throat, and he shivered violently as it leeched the last remnants of warmth from his body.

_" **...as you... once were...** "_

The cold was inescapable. It claimed him, as it had so many years ago when the infection took hold, numbing his body, slowing his heart. He gasped desperately as his eyes rolled to the sky, trying to hold on to life, his mind knowing this was a dream, but his body screaming that he was dying!

_Help!_

Eyes wide, R shuddered as his heart trembled and stopped. All thought, all fear and feeling left him as his body sagged in the creature's cold grasp and hung there for a time that had no meaning.

Then his head rose in small jerks and he met the eyeless gaze of his maker, his own eyes pale and empty.

 _" **...that's... better...** "_ the thing purred, drawing a boney talon along R's grey cheek. Where it touched, ugly black veins rose, spidering across his dead skin before vanishing again.

_" **...no pain... no sorrow... no guilt...** "_

Slowly, it lowered R to his feet, and he stood, his body quiet, his head hanging heavily.

_" **...better not to feel...** "_

R stared at nothing, feeling nothing, as the creature drew a boney finger across his forehead, silencing the faint stirring of anguish in the depths of his mind.

_Better..._

_" **...better without her...** "_

_Without..._

_Julie?_

R's head rose.

"...no..." he sighed through a dead throat.

The creature reached out and wrapped long twig-thin fingers around his jaw, and leaned in until they were inches apart.

_" **...you fight... you struggle... for her... always for her...** "_

Something had stirred in R, the faintest flicker of life as he'd thought of Julie's name, and saw her smiling face in his mind. He'd started to come back to himself, but the thing's touch had stolen his thoughts again, leaving only silence.

Stillness.

The creature's mouth twisted into something akin to a grin.

_" **...I will take her... and you... will stop fighting...** "_

Under the thought smothering grasp of the skeleton, something sparked within R's heart at its words. The spark flared quickly and grew, and R found himself thinking again... feeling again.

Pale eyes rising under brows curled in anger, he reached up, grasping the creature's talons with his own grey hands.

"...you... WON'T!" he roared, his voice suddenly stronger as he ripped the creature's hand from his jaw, breaking the brittle bones of its fingers as he wrenched it away from himself.

The thing jerked back with a screech, and R felt a momentary rush of triumph.

Then it  _laughed_ , and the horrible face lowered towards him as the grating echoes of its mirth faded.

 _" **... you amuse me...** "_ it growled, and its other hand swung forward and rammed into R's chest.

R felt a tremendous impact, and found himself suddenly landing hard, his limbs flying as he rolled, thirty feet from where he'd been standing. Something had snapped when he'd hit the ground, and he looked down to see his left arm hanging crookedly.

But there was no pain, because he was still dead.

As the black thing stalked forward, R rose to his feet, his arm hanging oddly at his side.

 _" **...it is a pity,** "_ it rasped, " _ **I cannot truly claim you... through the dream. Not... like last time...** "_

It neared, and R stood his ground, feeling the invulnerability of death, anger roaring inside.

 _" **... this is, after all...** "_ The creature stared down at him, its shriveled face twisting in a wicked smirk, " _ **...just an illusion...** "_

R gasped. His heart had suddenly started thundering within him, drowning his senses in the pulses of life, of hot blood and trembling breath.

And pain.

"Fuck," he groaned, crumpling over as his chest and arm flared in sharp agony, his nerves reignited. He fell to his knees, gasping against a ribcage that felt crushed as he cradled his broken arm.

Jesus, this had to stop. This thing was going to keep torturing him in this dream unless he woke himself up, but he had no idea how to do that. How could he pull himself from a world that felt so fucking real?

Could he change the world instead?

As the creature's boney hand closed over his throat again, R focused his mind, through the haze of pain and its frigid grasp, on a weapon. A gun, in his hand, imagining the cold metal against his palm, its heavy weight.

The problem was he'd never handled a gun in his life. The thoughts would not coalesce, and he found it hard to concentrate as his body shuddered, the chill settling in deep once again.

The thing lifted him from the ground, and R went still, his mind desperately focused on materializing a knife, long and sharp instead. The cold wrapped around his core, snatching his breath, and scrambling his thoughts.

_" **...will we do this again?... you seem to fear the cold...** "_

R looked up, his eyes glazed with pain, the thoughts in his head slipping, but still trying to feel the blade in his hand.

It was cold... he couldn't breathe. Why couldn't he breathe?

Where was Julie?

_Too cold._

_" **...when you wake... I will be waiting...** "_

As his eyes drooped shut, R suddenly started, jerking in the creature's arms. No, he couldn't fucking die like this again! With a strangled moan, his good hand clenched into a fist, and his eyes widened as he felt his fingers close around something in his palm. Something that hadn't been there a moment ago.

Without questioning it, he swung his arm up, the movement sloppy and frantic, and embedded the impossible blade in the side of the creature's skull.

The thing's hands jerked opened reflexively, dropping R to the ground, where he landed hard. Moaning, he pulled himself away as the creature fell with a strangely soft sigh, crashing to the pavement where it lay still.

R coughed as he lay against the hard road, his body trembling in pain, still feeling the frigid chill from the thing's touch.

He could see it from where his head rested against the rough pavement. The knife he'd somehow conjured up was sticking out of the thing's jagged skull, coated now in thick black blood that dribbled from the wound.

Was it dead? It had to be... it hadn't moved at all.

Slowly, grunting against the pain, R got to his knees and stood, cradling his broken arm.

The thing did not stir.

Why hadn't he woken up?

R slowly shuffled over to the skeletal nightmare and looked down at the dark pits the creature had for eyes. Black blood pooled in a dark halo around its head.

"Fuck you," he whispered as he stood there, listing slightly. "I'll never let you take her."

The withered skin around its bottomless eye sockets twisted inwards as its blackened lips pulled back.

And it laughed.

_" **...too late...** "_

With ferocious speed the creature struck, its jaws closing over R's face. He had a trembling moment to register the stench of rot and spilled blood, the pain of a multitude of teeth scissoring into his skin and muscle, and pressure beyond anything he'd ever experienced.

Before the thing shattered his skull.


	26. The Rescue Ends

Julie was having a hell of a time. Driving the Deuce was like driving a cranky tank without the traction. It still managed to plow its way through the snow though, mostly because it was so goddamn heavy and she was so incredibly stubborn.

The trip to the house had been slow, but steady. And insanely loud. It was a good thing the zombie situation had changed, because she would have been overcome by every corpse within ten miles, the Deuce was so violently vocal. As it was, she still found herself looking out for a horde, her palms sweaty in Stephen's gloves despite the chill.

And it was cold. The world was smothered in white. By the time she'd made it to the park, the snow had stopped and the sun was glimmering pale on the horizon, shining over the white blanket and laden tree limbs with a crisply golden light.

The amount of snow on the ground was unbelievable. Two and a half feet as far as she could tell. The most snow she'd ever seen in her life. A small part of her was panicking, worried that R was somewhere buried under these drifts, frozen solid and stiff. That they'd never find him, until spring melted it away. But she ignored that part of herself, angry at it, and focused on the strangely peaceful,  _sureness_ deep inside that R was alive, that he was somewhere  _here_ and that she would find him.

Now that she was at the park though, she was a little lost. They'd already checked the houses facing the wide stretch of land, and he hadn't been there.

Julie shifted in her seat to look down the road towards the first side street they'd taken. To the blue house and the strange pale eyed man.

They'd found tracks, and they'd found that big mess in the snow. The guy had said he'd made them... but...

The pulling sensation, that strange rubber band feeling... it wanted her to turn left, and go down that side road.

Had the guy been lying? Were those tracks R's? She had to know. The only way she could do that was to sneak through the backyards of the two houses next door to his. She certainly couldn't drive the Deuce up to his driveway. The asshole would just come out shooting.

Julie felt for the knife in her boot. Wouldn't be much good against a gun, but it was all she had. Should she wait for the squad? Her dad had probably noticed she was gone by now, and would try her comm any minute.

No, she couldn't wait for them, she was way too close. And she couldn't have the comm chirping while she was sneaking around someone's house.

Hitting the power switch, she watched the little red light die on the unit, and tucked it in her belt. Then she cut the engine, and steeled herself for the cold before jumping out of the cab.

Falling up to her lower thigh in snow was completely disconcerting. It felt a little like jumping into a pool you couldn't see the bottom of. She quickly decided she didn't like this much snow at all. And the going was tough. Wading through it was a pain, but at least she was warm by the time she reached the side street.

Julie maneuvered through a heavy drift to reach the backyard of the first house. Moving slowly through the yard, she noticed that the back porch window door was shattered, exposing the living room to the outside. Snow had drifted in and over the coffee table just inside, partly smothering someone's last cup of coffee. The colorful pages of a bunch of magazines lay open like accordions on the floor.

She made her way past a clothesline which still held a single blue sock, and crossed into the next yard. Their back door had also been broken - she could see the splintered wood around the lock - but the door was shut. A pink rocking horse sat buried up to its neck in snow beside it.

The pale guy had certainly been busy raiding the neighborhood. At least, she thought it was the same guy. It made sense though, people did whatever they could to survive. It didn't faze her that he'd been breaking into other people's property. The folks that owned them were probably long dead.

Finally, she reached the tall fence that separated the blue house from the neighbors yard she was crossing. As she got closer she realized she had a bit of a problem. The fence was bigger than she was. How the hell was she supposed to get over it?

Scanning the wide yard, she spotted an old gnarled tree, leaning out from the neighbors yard over the grey wooden barrier. She waded over to it, mentally judging the climb, and started up. The snow made everything slippery, and she ended up with a bleeding palm after sliding down one of the branches and ripping open a glove, but eventually made it to the branch that jutted over the fence.

Was she making too much noise? Could the guy see her from the house? Looking through the maze of branches, she searched for any sign of movement through the windows. The tree was hidden from the back door by a wood shed, and the curtains upstairs were closed.

With a tiny yelp, she slid off the tree into the snowbank below, landing on her butt and effectively disappearing as the snow was high enough to cover her head. She flailed for a moment, the fear of being buried overcoming her common sense, then got to her knees and poked her head over the snowbank, her blonde hair heavy with clumps of snow.

Silence and stillness. A bird chittered somewhere far off, but nothing stirred in the house that she could see. It was early enough that the guy might be sleeping.

_God, let that be true._

Slowly, carefully, she made her way to the wood shed, trying to keep as close to the fence as possible so her trail wouldn't be so obvious if anyone happened to look out the window. The snow was really starting to get to her. She couldn't feel her feet anymore, and her jeans were wet with snowmelt. At least her hands and head were dry and warm.

_Thanks Stephen._

Julie peeked around the wood shed, towards the side of the house that led to the front yard. The curtains on that side were opened, and if she could get close enough, she'd be able to peek through the windows and see what was going on.

God, this was making her nervous. The rubber band feeling was still there, but her gut was roiling. Something felt terribly wrong.

But she had to see, she had to know.

As quickly as she could, wading through the deep snow, she moved from the wood shed to the side of the house, her back pressing up against the old wood boards covered in flaking blue paint. Julie froze for a moment, holding her breath. There had been a sound somewhere in the house, something like a metallic chink, but faint. From the kitchen? Was that what she was next to?

Perhaps that was a good thing. If the guy was preoccupied in the kitchen, he hadn't heard her and probably wouldn't.

Moving quickly, she shuffled through the thick snow, her legs stiff with cold, and came up alongside the first window. Crouching as low as possible, she crept up in increments until she could see through from the corner. The end of the curtain blocked half of the room, but she could tell she was looking into the living room. A big fireplace sat in the center and a hallway led off towards the front of the house.

Everything looked very old fashioned. So it probably wasn't the guy's house at all. Or at least, hadn't started out as his.

Slowly, Julie shifted until she could see the rest of the room, and her heart leapt wildly in her chest as she spotted the figured wrapped in blankets on the couch.

"R!" she gasped, then covered her mouth, annoyed at herself for making a sound.

God, he was alive! Her heart swelled happily for a moment, as she realized she'd been right, she'd known he was okay, that he was here!

Then her face and heart fell as she watched him. He looked terrible. Too pale... his eyes deeply shadowed. Was he wrapped in the blankets because he'd been cold? Had the weird guy rescued him? Why the hell hadn't he said anything?

As she watched, R jerked in the blankets, his face tight with pain. What was going on? Was he waking up? Then it dawned on her as he grew still again. He was dreaming. Having another one of those fucking nightmares.

She had to get in there and help him. As she shifted slightly, about to head towards the back door, her eyes caught something else.

Rope, circling R's chest and legs.

He was tied up.

Dread squeezed her insides tight. Something was terribly wrong here. With the pale dead eyed guy. With this whole thing.

She needed to get R out right now, and she needed to call her Dad.

Pulling her gloves off and grabbing for the comm at her belt, Julie turned away from the window. A sudden flash of movement came from her right, and she flinched away instinctively, falling backwards into the deep snow as a shovel swept the space where her head had been moments earlier, wielded by the white haired guy with crazy pale eyes.

_Oh fuck!_

Desperately digging for the knife in her boot, her heart hammering as adrenaline fired through her body, she backed up, scrambling for footing in the deep drift.

The man swung the shovel down hard without a sound, his face frighteningly impassive, and Julie twisted, rolling to her side and bringing her knife up in a broad arc. She felt resistance on the blade as she swung away, heard the man's sharp hiss and knew she'd cut him. It gave her a slight bit of hope as she finally got her feet underneath her and turned to face him again.

Julie saw the shovel swinging in too late to react. The cold metal shattered her temple, the shocking impact knocking her down hard into the snow. Stunned, she lay there in the world of white, her skull pounding in vivid pain, her breath muffled by a sudden mask of ice. Something lifted her head roughly as Stephen's hat was slipped free, then her face fell to ice again.

"Nice hat."

Darkness.

Light.

Julie groaned as blood pounded around her ears, thundering against her crushed temple, and dimly realized she was being carried. Someone's shoulder dug into her hip, and her swinging arms hung towards the ground, too heavy to lift. Colors shifted around her, and a coherent thought skittered across the edge of her fractured mind.

_I'm in the house._

The thought brought a wave of fear, and she struggled to move, lifting her head with an effort that brought nausea in a heavy swell. Everything swam alarmingly and darkness fell again.

Thoughts resurfaced as she fell back against something hard. The floor? She moaned as her head flared in brilliant pain. Metal on metal sounded from somewhere in front of her, and her eyes fluttered open as her broken mind worked to understand what it was.

The world was a blur of light and dark patches, and the largest patch above her was moving.

Something hissed.

Julie frowned slightly, blinking up at the moving blur as it grew larger and a strange keening sound filled her ears.

"Enjoy sis," someone said from far away.

Sis? Who was that? She didn't have a brother...

...did she?

Strong, thin hands drifted under her arms, lifting her up and pulling her back against something that moved and shifted.

And hissed.

Julie tried to turn towards the sound, but cold, dry hands cradled her head, the fingers brushing like dead twigs against her skin. She shivered from the touch, and the faintest stirrings of worry drifted through her and then fell away.

Something cold and sinuous brushed up against her wounded temple and Julie gasped, the pressure a sharp agony against the splintered gash. It continued, in short, slow strokes, and gradually the pain faded, replaced by a growing numbing chill. A strange raspy purr filled the air around her, and the thought flickered briefly in her head of a cat, licking at her face.

The chill grew, spreading through her body, and Julie started to feel as if she was sinking, falling away from the world.

As if she were emptying out.

As her mind and body grew still, she felt the faintest brush of fingers against her neck, and a tight jagged pressure there.

There was a strange, curiously distant pain.

And then she was too cold to feel anything else.


	27. The Confession

R struggled to surface from the dark, his mind a chaotic jumble of sensation and memory; smothering heat and frigid bone-deep chill, sharp pain and empty numbness, the lingering horror of the dream...

_be careful  
too late_

"Julie..." he rasped, his voice scratchy and raw, stirring him from oblivion.

As his eyes opened, blurry shapes of muted color bloomed in his vision, then swam dramatically in front of him as his eyes rolled back up and the lights went out.

_no... wake up... Julie..._

Struggling again, R tried to move, groaning as his body cried out in a thousand voices of pain. God... why did everything hurt so much? Why couldn't he move?

Why was it so fucking hot?

His eyes flickered open again, and the blurriness sharpened somewhat.

He was in a room, though he couldn't see any real detail, just splotchy shapes of yellows and reds and dark browns. A large window blazed in a bright halo across from him, framed by shapes that looked like curtains, that much he could make out. The place wasn't familiar to him.

Why was he here?

R tried to rub his eyes, but his arms wouldn't budge and his fingers screamed in protest. Staring down at himself blearily, he blinked to clear his head, and slowly the world came into focus.

He was wrapped up like a mummy, on an old fashioned couch, in a tight bundle of floral bedding.

Tied with rope.

R stared at himself for a long while, not understanding why he was tied up. He tried to make a cohesive whole of the jumbled mix of memory and dream in his head, to remember how this had happened, but the puzzle pieces wouldn't fit together.

He had been walking... snow everywhere... his mom was there...

R blinked.  _Mom?_

Shaking his head, he tried to find more pieces as he worked to shimmy himself free.

Julie looking through him... an empty kiss... his mom telling him to be careful...

R stopped moving and stared down at nothing. Why did he have memories of his mom?

The images kept coming. A breathtaking chill, an insistent blurry figure, the girl on the bench, and a struggle with something dark and terrible.

_too late_

R's heart squeezed hard. Julie. Where was she?

She'd been searching for him, with dad, in the car. Wait... how did he know that?

But they'd gone back to the city. That's where she had to be... right?

Deep down, something told him that wasn't true. Something was terribly wrong.

His struggles to free himself grew frantic as fear and dread sharpened his mind, and he finally succeeded in bringing his forearm up to his chest, though his fingers burned, and his side pulsed angrily.

"Hello again," came a soft male voice from across the room.

R froze. The dream echoed in his head, the voice of the dark thing saying the same words, as he tried to see who had spoken.

_when you wake... I will be waiting_

A sudden movement made him focus, and he caught the pale eyed stare of a man dressed in jeans and a plaid shirt leaning against the far side of the room next to the window. The man pushed himself off the wall, grimacing as he did so, and walked over, his arm pressed tight against his chest.

R watched him as he moved, unease growing. The man's frame was incredibly gaunt, his hair, short like R's, but colorless white. And his eyes...

_Infected._

The guy had been exposed to the disease. R could see it in those eyes, but deeper than that, he could  _feel_ it. Some old part of him recognized it in the guy.

But the man wasn't dead. Just... hollowed out. How was that possible?

_...it enjoys twisting him..._

_Oh shit._

The guy in front of him was the girl's brother.

"I said hello," the man said again, wincing as he shifted his arm. "It's rude not to answer."

R tried to stay calm, but everything the girl told him came flooding back.

_he keeps feeding me...  
bad things_

Swallowing, R spoke as evenly as he could, "Why am I tied up?"

The man glanced down at him briefly, before looking towards what R guessed was the kitchen.

"It's for your own protection."

He was lying. Jesus Christ, where was Julie, was she here? Had this guy done something to her?

_he keeps feeding me  
too late_

R forced himself to keep calm. He couldn't do anything wrapped up like this.

"Well, I'm awake now - can you untie me?"

The man stared back at him, his face blank. The unblinking gaze from those eyes was disconcerting, and R found himself flashing back to the nurse on the bus... The one who'd held him... bitten him.

Infected him.

"Not yet," the man said softly, and he glanced towards the kitchen again. "I have to eat... are you hungry?"

The man's words opened up a sudden yawning emptiness in R's stomach, and it growled loudly.

"No," he lied. He was in fact ravenous.

"No?" the gaunt man echoed, and his mouth tilted in the faintest hint of a smile. "Stomach says yes."

"I have to go to the bathroom," R said quickly, trying to catch the edge of the guy's good mood, and as he said it, the urge became painful, "Can't do that tied up, unless you want me to pee on your couch."

The man's brows lowered, all traces of the smile vanishing, and R's nerves jittered under his skin.

"You always this rude?" the pale eyed man growled.

R stared at him steadily. "Only when I'm tied up."

The man's face broke into a lopsided grin, and he gave a sharp laugh, cut short with a hiss, as he shifted his arm against his chest.

"Shit..." he grunted, squeezing his eyes tight before easing them open. "Stay there..." he added, pointing at R with a hoarse chuckle, and turned away to head into the kitchen. Soon the smell of cooking meat filled the air.

R's heart was hammering. He'd seen what the guy was holding his arm against. Blood, thick and dark, had oozed from a clean gash across his upper chest.

It looked like a cut. From a knife?

Julie always carried a knife, knew how to fight with one too.

R's skin went cold. Was she here? Had he done something to her? Jesus Christ, he had to get free!

Wrestling with the ton of bedding surrounding him, he finally managing to wriggle an arm out. The effort cost him though, and as he sat trying to steady the suddenly swimming room, he saw why his hands were in so much pain. The skin of his fingers was bubbled, and some of the blisters had burst from his efforts to free himself. He turned his hand over, staring at it, and realized he couldn't feel his pinky at all.

"Frostbite," the man said as he returned, pulling up a wooden chair and then a folding table with his free arm. He disappeared into the kitchen again and returned with a plate of food, then sat down and started to eat.

"At least I think that's what it is..." the man said, sawing into the bloody steak on his plate. "I'm no expert."

R watched, tension building between his shoulder blades as the smell of what the man was eating drifted through his senses.

The pale eyes rose to him as the man paused mid bite, and smiled, obviously enjoying the meal. The smile turned into a smirk as he finished chewing, and he held out an army knife with a skewered sample, red and dripping.

"Want some?" the guy asked, tilting his head. "It's amazing."

R's nostrils flared and his stomach churned uneasily. That smell. He knew that smell. And why did that knife look so familiar?

The realization hit him hard and he squeezed his eyes shut, suddenly terrified.

_Oh Jesus... he's eating... and that's Julie's knife..._

"You have it, you never go back to the regular stuff," came the guys voice, and he laughed.

R couldn't speak.

_be careful  
too late_

"Where is she," R blurted out suddenly, his eyes still closed, his blood pounding in his ears. A deep horror filled him, and beneath it stirred something raw and shaking.

Rage.

"What?" the guy asked, still chewing.

"Where's Julie," R asked again, opening his eyes to focus on the man, his voice trembling, barely above a whisper.

"Julie... was that her name?"

A terrible hole opened up in R's chest at the words.

_Was?_

"What did you do..." This time R's voice was a whisper. His throat had gone so dry he couldn't manage anything else. His gaze fell to the meat on the man's plate as his mind started screaming.

The guy followed his gaze, a strange smile on his face.

He picked the knife up. "Yeah, this is hers." Wincing, he lifted his arm to show R the gash across his chest.

"Girl knew how to fight," he said with a snort, "This is going to-"

With a sudden guttural cry, R swung his legs over hard, catching the guy in the side and knocking him off his chair. Rolling off the couch with the momentum, R landed on the floor on his free arm, yelling as his broken ribs flared in stabbing pain. Clenching his teeth against it, he worked furiously to free himself of the blankets and ropes still bound about him, rolling back into a sitting position as he managed to pull his other arm free.

The man was on top of him in an instant, hammering him in the head with punches as R tried to protect himself, barely landing a few hits of his own. The blows came hard and fast, shockingly hard from such a thin man, and R quickly realized he was losing.

Streaks of light danced across his vision as the guy caught him square in the temple with a sudden blow, and he went slack for a moment, dazed, his head pounding with hurt. Disoriented, he tried to get back up, struggling against his now leaden body, and the man landed another thunderous blow to his face, knocking him back down.

Groaning, R rolled back against the hard wood floor, the room spinning sickeningly around him. Something warm trickled from his nose down his cheek.

His mind was a jumbled mess of pain and anger and fear. What the hell had he just accomplished? Nothing. He hadn't helped Julie, sure as fuck hadn't helped himself. Eyes tight with pain, he looked up.

The guy was standing over him, features blurred.

R tried to rise, but his body was having trouble listening. "Wha... d'you do... to Julie..." he mumbled, finally managing to roll on his side as his ribs squealed.

The man bent down and R flinched, holding up a shaking arm to defend himself. Without saying a word the guy yanked R off the floor by the wrist, then pushed him back on the couch, binding his wrists tightly with the rope R had loosened.

Dazed, R tried to pull his arms apart, but there was no give, not like last time.

_Shit._

Then the man stood back up, picking the chair off the floor and setting it upright. The plate lay in pieces by the fireplace, and the meat rested nearby, covered in ash.

"Fuck!" the guy growled.

The man turned back to him swinging. Too late, R saw the fist aimed for his temple. There was a brief explosion of violent pain, and the world went dark.

Sounds came to him gradually, and the repeated light slap of something against his cheek, but the pounding hurt in his head and jaw pushed him down again.

The sounds resolved into words as the pats continued, "Come on man, wake up."

R's eyes rolled open and he stared into the blurry face of the pale eyed man.

"There we go," the guy said, his mouth pulling into a smile as he stood back up from the couch. "Didn't mean to hit you so hard, sorry. You just screwed up my meal."

R's eyes glazed and drifted shut.

"Hey, no no, stop that."

The patting continued, and R stirred again, starting as something was pressed to his lips.

"Just water," the man said, and R felt the liquid lap at his mouth. "Drink it, you'll feel better."

R took a sip, and the water coursed cool down his throat, sharpening his mind. Opening his eyes, he blinked to clear his vision, and groaned against the brutal pounding in his skull. His face felt swollen, like an ill fitting mask.

"That's better," the guy said, and took the cup away.

R blinked again. The words he'd said... another echo of the creature from the dream.

_too late_

The guy turned back and sat on the edge of the fireplace, facing R. "I never introduced myself. I don't tend to do that with people, but I think, if we're going talk about some things, I should."

The man smiled. "I'm Evan."

R raised his head slowly, wincing as the throbbing pain got worse, and met the man's pale gaze.

"Evan... where's Julie," he asked hoarsely.

_If he's hurt her, I'm going to kill him._

"You know I saved your life? Least you could do is give me your name."

R said nothing, though the news shocked him.  _Saved my life?_

"You were a fucking popsicle man," the guy said, then laughed. "If I hadn't gone out, brought you back, and warmed you up, you'd be dead."

Evan waved his hand dismissively, the knuckles red. "But don't worry about sharing your name or anything."

_...he was nice once... promise me you'll save him..._

R sighed. "Rowan..."

"Rowan. Okay," Evan said, pulling something from his back pocket, "Let's trade. I'll tell you where Julie is, if you tell me how you got  _this_."

And he held out the little brown bear.

R froze, feeling his skin prickle as he looked down at the blood stained toy.

He looked back up at Evan.

"Don't tell me you don't know what it is," Evan said in a sharp voice. "You were holding it when I found you." He leaned forward. "It belonged to my sister. So why do you have it?"

_Shit._

How the hell was he supposed to answer that? He killed the guys sister... what the hell could he say?

"I found it," R answered roughly, through a suddenly dry mouth.

Evan frowned. "You found it? Where?"

R didn't answer straight away.  _Keep it as close to the truth as possible..._  "In the park."

Evan twisted the bear in his hands, just like his sister once had. The effect disturbed R greatly.

"When?"

_Goddammit._

"Years ago," R finally answered.

Evan's face grew darker. "How many?"

"I... I don't remember."

The pale eyes narrowed. "You don't remember."

R shook his head, wincing as the room wobbled, and knew the guy didn't believe him. Too fucking bad.

"I answered your question," he snapped, "where is she?"

Evan leaned back against the fireplace. "Was she your girlfriend?" he asked casually, as if they were hanging out over a beer.

R's heart clenched. He'd said 'was' again. "If you've hurt her, I'll-"

"You'll what?" Evan shot back, interrupting him. "What exactly will you do? You're tied up and I just beat you unconscious. You've got  _nothing_."

R glared at him, wishing, for the first time since coming back to life, that he was a corpse. He'd rip this guy apart.

Then he blinked, stunned at the viciousness of that feeling. What the hell? Would he really do that? The answer came back loud and clear. When it came to Julie, he would.

Evan was still talking.

"... so if you want to avoid round two, you need to start telling the truth."

R's gaze fell and he stared at the floral print in his lap. What the hell else could he say? Perhaps it was time to finally own up to what he'd done?

"You tell me the fucking truth," Evan growled, "or you'll never see her again, okay?"

_Fine._

R's eyes rose to meet Evan's, and when he spoke his voice was even and clear.

"I took that bear from your sister's corpse, after I killed her."

A strange calm settled in his stomach. It felt surprisingly good to tell the truth.

Evan's face was wide eyed with shock. "W-what?"

The guy's reaction made R feel oddly satisfied, after everything the asshole had put him through. "You wanted the truth," he answered with a snarl, "That's the truth. Now where's Julie?!"

"W-why would you..." Evan stuttered, his face still slack with disbelief, "why would you fucking SAY THAT?!"

"Because it's the truth!" R yelled back, "I was a corpse! I'm the one who turned your sister! I tore her throat out, she died and I dropped her in the dirt and left!"

Telling the truth didn't feel good anymore, and R's mind reeled as he relived the horror of that moment through the strange lens of his dead self. Evan's reaction was devastating now, the man's face was twisted in pain and shock, and his body recoiled, as if R's words were physical blows, hammering at him, crushing him.

_Oh god..._

It was too much to take, and R's eyes fell to his hands again, at the digits pale with frostbite. "I'm sorry. Jesus, I'm sorry... I never meant to hurt her. I never meant to hurt anyone. I just... please, tell me where Julie is... please... I don't care what you do to me... just... let her go..."

It was his fault the guy's sister had died and turned, that Evan was so fucking twisted. His fault...

Suddenly, Evan laughed, the sound high pitched and frenetic.

Startled, R looked up.

"Oh my god!" Evan cackled, holding his arm tight against his chest, "What the hell was that?! Where the hell did you come up with that shit?"

R's mouth fell open. "I didn't come up with it, it's what happened!"

 _What the hell?_  The guy didn't believe him? He'd finally told the truth and the guy didn't believe him?!

"Did you hurt my sister in the park that day?"

R was baffled. "Hurt your sister? Holy shit, didn't you hear me? I killed your sister Evan, I ripped her throat out and she bled to dea-"

Evan lashed out without warning, slamming his fist across R's face.

"Oh..." R groaned, "fuck..." With trembling hands he reached up to his jaw, spitting out a sudden welling of blood from a cut inside his cheek. As his eyes found Evan's, fear engulfed him.

They were livid with rage. And he knew, with sudden clarity, that this man was going to kill him.

Swallowing the blood trickling down his throat, he slowly dropped his hands to his lap.

There was nothing he could do. Evan was right, he had nothing, not tied up like this.

But it was deeper than that.

He'd killed a child. Ended her life without a thought and dropped her corpse in the dirt.

And he'd done far worse since.

Maybe this was what he finally deserved.

"You're the one who hurt her..." Evan whispered, his hands clenching and unclenching.

R looked down. "Yeah Evan," he said with a sigh, "I hurt he-GGH!" His head jerked back as Evan punched him square in the face. There was an audible crunching sound, and blood ran in a dramatic flood from his nose, down over his mouth and jaw, spattering on his bare chest.

Groaning, R crumpled forward, dropping his head in his hands, and tried to stem the flow of blood, but cold fingers twisted in his hair and yanked his head up.

He stared up, through eyes squeezed in pain, to see Evan's face a mask of rage and a swiftly descending fist.

Evan punched him over and over again, until R's world was nothing but pain and blood and roaring, that he only dimly realized was coming from Evan. It was a deep, guttural sound of absolute rage, and it washed over R as he started to slip into darkness.

As the dark enveloped him, his mind floated somewhere outside of the pain. Was this a way to pay for what he'd done? Could the world forgive him now?

"No!" Evan growled from somewhere above him, "You don't get to do that! Wake the fuck up!" And his side exploded in fiery agony as Evan punched him over his broken ribs.

R screamed, his mind snapping back into sharp focus as he felt his ribs snap inwards, overloading his nerves in breathtaking agony.

Frantically, his body spasmodic, he folded over the area to try and protect himself, but Evan hit him again and again in the same spot.

Something went terribly  _wrong_ inside, and R wailed, shuddering as the pain eclipsed anything he had ever felt before.

Finally, he curled in on himself, each breath a wet, ragged gasp, as Evan fell away, dropping back against the fireplace.

And Evan started to cry.

Engulfed in pain and struggling to breathe, R watched Evan through blood filled eyes as the man wept. Swallowing, he tried to speak, but couldn't manage more than a strangled whisper.

Closing his eyes with the effort, he tried again. "...pl...please... where's... Julie..."

Evan stopped crying, sucking in a sharp breath as he straightened and wiped his hands, the knuckles raw and bloody, down his face. His eyes fell to R's, pale and distant.

Then he stood suddenly, and walked away.

R slid into darkness.

* * *

_This wasn't an easy chapter to write. The beginning of the next one was even harder. Evan's a shockingly violent individual, and I was sometimes typing with my hands over my eyes writing him. Here, he's strangely disassociative. A part of him is unable l unwilling to see what's really happened to his sister, but another part is fully aware, and that's what's acting at the end, even though he's not truly cognizant of it. Would like to say more about R and Julie, as things look pretty dire for them right now, but don't want to give anything away. Hope you'll stick around for the upcoming chapters, and leave a comment if you have a moment._


	28. The Hanged Man

"Wake up."

The words brought R out of the dark into a body racked with vicious hurt, a crushing, pounding pressure in his head and panic as he realized he couldn't breathe properly. As he struggled, trying to lift his head, it suddenly dawned on him that he was upside down. Cold. Naked. Arms no longer bound, and hanging past his head. Something was digging into his ankles, something painfully tight and rough. Rope?

_What the fuck?_

Slowly, blinking through blood and tears, he opened his eyes.

The world was upside down. Evan stood before him, in the doorway to a bizarrely pink and red kitchen. R blinked again, looking down as he tried to understand what was going on.

The floor beneath his swaying body was covered in blood.

_Oh god._

With widening eyes, R stared up at Evan.

"Good. It's important to me that you see this coming," Evan said, and he drew a knife, Julie's knife, out to where R could see it.

_Oh FUCK!_

"Nng... d-don't..." R gasped, then coughed up something wet and thick.  _Blood._  Coughing again, he struggled for air to speak, desperate to reach through to Evan. "You're... infected... making you... do this... don't..."

"I'm going to bleed you, gut you and eat you asshole," Evan growled, pressing the blade to the side of R's neck as his cool fingers twisted in R's hair and pulled his head down, stretching his throat. "It's what you deserve for hurting her."

_NO! I DON'T FUCKING DESERVE THIS!_

R gave a strangled cry as the blade bit, and grabbed frantically for the knife, adrenaline giving him strength, just as a piercing screech filled the house around them.

Evan's hands went slack for a moment, as he turned towards the sound.

"Sis?" he said.

With a wild and desperate roar, R twisted the blade in Evan's hand and drove it upwards, under Evan's ribcage, into the guy's chest. The knife cut true and deep, and hot blood streamed over their hands, joined around the handle.

Evan turned back slowly, and looked down, at the hilt embedded in his heart. With a trembling jerk, he pulled the blade free.

Confusion crinkling his brow, blood spurting from the wound in his chest, Evan's eyes fell to R.

R held his gaze defiantly, as the light in those pale eyes dimmed, and Evan collapsed with a soft sigh. As the man fell away from him, R wrenched the knife back, and desperately tried to ride the adrenaline rush by swinging himself up to cut the rope binding his legs. The rush petered and died as he screamed with the wet crunch of his ribs, and he fell back down, racked in bloody coughs, almost losing his grip on the blade.

The darkness circled around him, pulling at him, but R fought it, knowing if he fell into it, he'd never come up again.

_...don't deserve this... come on!_

With a cry of rage, Rowan swung himself up and grabbed at the rope with a flailing hand. His fingers, slick with blood, closed on the rough hemp, and he hung there, trying to breathe as he sliced through the rope with Julie's blade.

Darkness snatched at his mind, and from far away he felt himself falling, the knife slipping from his hand as his body went limp. As he dropped sharply, the ropes pulled taut and suddenly snapped, and he crashed hard to the floor, landing in a bloodied heap.

Groaning, Rowan rolled to his side, warm blood flooding his mouth as another cough shook his body. Spitting it out on the floor, he struggled to rise against the stabbing agony in his side.

He couldn't lie here. He couldn't let the darkness take him again. He had to find Julie... he had to save her.

With agonizing slowness, he pulled himself up along the door frame, until he was standing, wavering on his feet. Taking shallow, gurgling breaths, he pushed away from the wall and groped for the island in the middle of the strange kitchen, stepping over Evan's prone form as he moved forward with faltering steps.

Evan's fingers twitched as he passed, but Rowan ignored the motion and pushed on, shuffling out into the living room, grasping clumsily at the couch to steady himself. Another coughing fit hit him and he cried out as his ribs grated murderously.

 _Too much blood._  Spitting it onto the floral rug, he turned in place, not sure where to go. A door stood opposite him, and he walked towards it, then fell against it, wrestling to turn the doorknob with hands slick with blood.

It led down into darkness. Rowan felt for a switch but couldn't find one.

"..Julie?" he whispered wetly into the dark. Muffled cries answered.

Thank god... he'd found her.

Taking the steps slowly, carefully, grunting with pain, he reached the bottom, and steadied himself against the wall as the room listed disturbingly.

A young girl with long black hair sat against the wall, frozen, watching him through fearful eyes, her mouth gagged.  _That's... not Julie?_ Her eyes darted quickly away from him. He followed the gaze, and saw another woman against the wall to his left, her body slack against the ropes binding her hands.

R lurched on his feet, not understanding. Where was Julie?

Shuffling forward, he reached the girl and bent, hissing in pain, to undo the gag. She drew back from his hand, clearly terrified.

"... it's okay," he gasped, "here to help..."

The girl relaxed a little at his words, her eyes pinching as she started to cry, and he drew the gag from her mouth, then tried to undo the rope around her wrists.

"Oh god oh my god... help my mom, please! She stopped moving a while ago, she won't wake up! Please!" the girl's cries were frantic, punctured with sobs, and R turned from her, driven by her pleas, and shuffled to her mother.

_Where the fuck is Julie?!_

He pulled the gag free, but the woman didn't stir. With a hoarse, shaking breath, he reached to the side of her neck to check her pulse. She had one, slow, but there.

R fumbled with the ropes around her wrists, but his fingers couldn't get enough purchase to pull the knot free.

The already dark room seemed to grow darker, and R gave up on the rope, resting for a moment against the cold wall, his bloodied hair hanging over his eyes as he struggled to breathe. There was no way he was getting these women free without a knife. But he needed to find Julie first.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

Moving back to the girl, he reached for her hand and squeezed it. "Can't untie... ropes... be back as soon... as I can, okay?"

"Please don't leave us... please! He might come back!"

R shook his head. "He won't... I... I killed him."

"Oh god... oh god..." the girl started crying again, and he turned away and slowly pulled himself up the stairs.

When he reached the living room, there was a short howl from the second floor. The hair on R's arms rose at the sound.

The boney. The one who'd screeched before.

Evan's sister.

_Oh fuck... is Julie upstairs?!_

"No..." R moaned, and tried to run, but stumbled and fell against the wall in the hallway, leaving bloody handprints dripping against the beige paint.

Pushing himself forward, he dragged himself up the stairs, and stumbled into the first room on the left. It was empty. A disheveled bed and strange sculptures made of bone greeted him. Surreal. Staggering out again, he pushed into a bathroom, empty as well.

"Julie!" he cried out, coughing again with the effort, and continued on, jerking the door open on the right at the end of the hall.

It smelled of old death, and he stumbled back at the sight of two mummified skeletons lying on the master bed together, one in a dull yellow dress, the other in a suit, surrounded by dried flowers. Their faces leered up at the ceiling as he stood there, not understanding what he was seeing.

Shaking his head with a groan, R fell back into the hallway, and up against what he realized was the last door. He twisted until he was pressed against it, and held the knob in his bloody shaking hands as he closed his eyes against the dread in his heart.

Julie was in there, he could feel it.

R pulled the door open, his heart thudding in his chest.

The room was dim, the curtains drawn closed against the light, and thick metal bars separated him from the bulk of the bedroom.

On the other side of the bars, stood Julie, her back turned towards him.

And beyond her stood the small skeleton of a young girl, skin stretched taut and dark over small bones, the tattered, bloodstained remains of a pink jacket clinging to her impossibly thin frame.

"Julie!" R cried, and rushed forward, his pain disappearing under a sudden flood of relief as he saw her, and tried to find a way to get the cage door open. "Don't move... I'll get you out!"

There was a latch, secured with a pin, he just had to pull it free, lift it and... and... and his forehead fell against the bars as he stared into the room.

At Julie.

"No..." he whispered, as she slowly turned. "No no nononono..." he moaned, squeezing his eyes closed against the sight of her deathly grey skin, her cracked and darkly bruised lips, her sunken pale eyes as they turned towards him.

Dead, empty eyes.

The boney hissed, and he heard the triumph in the sound.

_too late_

"NO!" he roared, blood flecking his lips, and slammed his arm against the bars as Julie focused on him and walked forward with a soft moan, her movements stiff and unnatural.

"NO!" he cried out again, and started to sob as he fell down the bars to the carpet floor, the fibers stiff with dried blood against his bare skin. He curled in on himself, trying to shrink away to nothing as he realized he'd failed. He'd failed to keep her safe.

The thing had killed her.

Fingers of ice closed around his wrist and started to pull, and R jerked up to stare into the face of the woman he loved, inches from his own, blank in death. Her pale gaze drifted to his, and away, with no flicker of recognition, as she focused on the prize in her hands.

"No... Julie... god... I'm so sorry," he moaned, his face drawn in grief. The mouth that had flashed him so many brilliant smiles was slack, weeping the black fluid of the dead, the lips dark and dry.

 _Failed_... _I failed._

No... he'd come back from this... she could come back from this, he just had to reach her, pull her back.

"Julie..." he whispered, as she drew his arm through the cage door, the chill of her touch making him shudder. "Please... listen to me... look at me... please..."

He tried to pull his arm away, but Julie bared her black teeth and gave a strangled rasp, wrenching him back hard against the cold bars.

The fight left him in a rush and he sagged where he sat, blood welling in his mouth with another shaking cough.

Jesus, he knew what this was like, what she was going through. To be a new corpse, to be so incredibly empty, so desperate to fill the yawning hole inside. It killed him, that she was going through this. That she was lost to it.

_No. I can bring her back. I just have to reach her..._

"Julie. Julie... look at me."

Her dead eyes swiveled to his.

"I love you Julie," he said softly, holding her gaze, and squeezed her hand as she held his wrist in a frozen grip.

" **...you cannot reach... her... there is nothing... left to reach...** "

R jumped at the voice and looked beyond Julie for the source, realizing with shock that it had come from Evan's sister. The boney he'd all but forgotten in his grief over Julie. But, skeletons didn't speak? They never spoke, not out loud. Their language was rasps, growls, hisses, with a message passed underneath that somehow... he'd understood as a corpse.

This was something else. It was the voice of the nightmarish thing from his dreams, the thing that had reinfected him in the hospital. No longer dream, but truly  _here_.

As he stared in horror, the skeleton  _grew_ , hideously stretching and cracking in the dark shadowed room into the terrifying figure of his dream.

"Oh fuck... Julie... get away from it," R whispered, and tried again to free his arm, but it was useless, she was too strong.

" **... she is mine... as you will be again...** "the thing rasped, and it stalked forward.

Julie's gaze swiveled back to his arm, spattered in Evan's blood, and his own.

" **TAKE** ," the creature growled, in a voice that filled the room.

Panic ripped through R as he remembered that voice inside himself as a corpse, pushing him to kill, to _feed_.

_Oh god!_

"Julie, don't... don't do this!" he pleaded, frantically trying to pull his arm back, desperate to stop what he knew was about to happen. "Fight it! I know you can... please!"

The woman he loved struck with sudden speed, clamping her jaws hard over his forearm, sinking her teeth through his skin, deep into the muscle below.


	29. The Gift

From a cold, absolute darkness, came light.

It did not move, it did not waver. It merely was, as the corpse opened her pale eyes for the first time and stared up, her gaze frozen and unblinking.

Nothing moved within her, no breath or heartbeat. She lay still, a hollow dead thing on the floor.

Something drew down her face, against her cheek, and across her lips as the light shifted above her. Fingers. Dry, thin. A sound, a soft hiss, washed over her, approving.

Her eyes moved to track the sound, and the fingers as they slid away.

A dim awareness rose. Of an emptiness, raw and absolute, and the aching need to fill it.

Sound left her then, as her mouth worked, and she pulled air into forgotten lungs. A soft gasp through a dead throat.

_Empty... need..._

_**Sit up.** _

The command came as wisdom, and her body jerked as it tried to remember how to move, animated by something other than old networks of blood and electric fire.

She rose, and sat, her head heavy and strange. Gold threads dangled lankly about her eyes, and she tracked the movement for a moment.

_Hair..._

Her eyes fell to the grey hands curled against her splayed legs, one boot hanging oddly off of her foot. She stared at the hands, and through them, as the aching emptiness inside grew.

_**Stand.** _

The impulse pushed her forward, her body working again, oddly, awkwardly, to perform what it was asked. Finally she stood, swaying slightly as her dead, stiff legs reached an uneasy balance.

_Empty... EMPTY..._

Something hissed behind her, and slowly, she turned, drawn by the sound.

Movement before her, a dark, small thing, hissing softly. Curious, she tracked its motions with her dead eyes, and it spoke to her, inside.

_**Move back.** _

_NEED._  A strangled moan came from her throat, the sound needful, demanding. The creature knew what she needed. It had to provide it... help her fill the hollow inside.

_**Soon... move back.** _

The corpse that had been Julie raised her lips back from her teeth, and growled at the creature.

_Need NOW!_

The small shriveled thing opened its jagged jaws wide and answered her with a deafening screech, the sound rending the room around her, driving her backwards in faltering steps as she felt something new.

Fear. A trembling inside her body that she did not like.

_**There.** _

She stopped.

_**Wait.** _

She waited, and the emptiness ate at her, until the ache was all she knew, all she was.

A sound in the hall, a cry, a muffled name. These things interested her, and she started to turn.

_**No.** _

She stopped, her lips curling again. This new corpse did not like being being told what to do. But she waited, and suddenly something new surrounded her. Something that pulled at the aching need inside.

Something that made her being quiver. A scent... of life.

A voice came from behind her, a male voice, excited, and the life scent flushed thick in the air, she was almost dizzy with it.

_NEED._

Slowly she turned, and this time the thin creature didn't stop her.

A man stood at the metal bars behind her, his skin bare and covered in blood. As he saw her, he started to moan, and the thin one behind her hissed. The sound the man made... was filled with pain.

_Why?_

_**Take.** _

_Yes._ The small creature had brought her what she needed. As she started towards the man, moaning with need, he hit the bars separating them, crying out in... anger? Another cry, and he started to fall down, till he lay curled against the bars.

Within reach.

_Crying?_

_Why?_

_**Take him.** _

_Yes._  The ache drove her forward, and she lowered to him, her body somehow moving smoother now, steadied by the heady scent of life and blood. The tall man's face was bruised and swollen. Shaggy dark hair stiff with blood obscured his eyes as he shook with sobs. Slowly, eagerly, she reached through and took his wrist.

 _Thank you._ The words surfaced in her mind, and she let them sink again, not sure what to do with them.

The man jerked at her touch, and stared at her, his eyes pinched and red with tears. Words tumbled from him, but they meant nothing, and the warm limb in her hands pulled her gaze back as she drew it through the bars. Life pulsed beneath her fingers, hot and trembling, and she felt his scent wrap around her, drawing her in.

_WANT._

The man made more sounds as she pulled him further through, they were insistent, but meaningless. It was only when he tried to take his arm back, the gift she held, that she snarled to let him know it was not okay. He could not retract the gift, and she pulled him back hard, desperate to keep what she'd claimed.

A cough brought a bloom of blood smell her way, and she almost moaned with the scent of it. There was something deeply damaged in him, and it fascinated her.

The man spoke again, and this time the words resolved into meaning, "... look at me."

 _Look?_ She looked. His eyes held hers, and she found it... interesting.

"I love you Julie," the bleeding one said quietly, his eyes fixed on hers.

Then his warm hand closed on her own cold hand, and squeezed.

Something in that touch... in the man's sad eyes... made her feel... lost.

The thin creature spoke behind her, uninteresting words she ignored. She stared at the man, wanting to understand... even as his gaze was taken by the creature, and his hand went slack in her own.

The connection broken, the man spoke again, fearful, but his words drifted over her and away. He tried again to reclaim the gift, but she did not yield it.

Again the creature spoke, and something in the words brought her back to the life in her hands.

It was time to fill what was empty.

" **TAKE** "

 _YES._  The man struggled in her grasp, pleading, but she no longer heard what he had to say.

As her mouth closed quickly over the warm flesh, and her teeth sank into the hot meat below, everything suddenly made sense.

Everything. Life zinged through her body, firing sparks under her skin, in her mind, her being was alight with it. THIS was the point. THIS was what she was meant to do.

 _Thank you._ The words came again, but she had no way to say them.

A raspy purr reverberated in the room, and she was aware of the approval of the dark thing now beside her. Deeper she tore into the quivering muscle, swallowing the blood and meat that rushed from it, lost in the dizzying buzz.

" **...enough...** "

The command made no sense. How could it ever be enough?

" **STOP** "

Skeletal hands closed around her neck, and as her mouth opened in protest, she was suddenly thrown violently across the room. The wall slammed hard against her back and side, and she fell in a broken heap to the floor.


	30. The Blood

R grunted, clenching his teeth against the pain as Julie's teeth tore into his arm. It was intense, worse than the first time he'd been bitten, but he would not let her see how much it hurt. He would save her from that memory. He could do that much at least.

The look on her face, he knew what that felt like... lost in the dizzying energy of life. His blood dribbled down her chin and along her jaw as she dived deeper, and he hissed, pressing his head against the bars to distract himself from the pain. Thoughts drifted muzzily through his head. Would it take long this time? The terrifying numbness, the tremors, the nausea?

He'd forget everyone again... his Dad... Brandon... Julie... The thought brought new tears to his eyes and a terrible ache to his heart.

God... he couldn't do this again.

"... **enough...** "

R's eyes flicked open as the creature spoke again in its horrible stone voice, standing over Julie, watching as she bit deeper.

" **STOP** "

With an impatient growl, it grabbed Julie by the back of the neck, and R's arm fell free as the thing flung her violently away.

"No!" he cried, horrified, as she hit the wall and fell limply to the bloodstained carpet. "Please... don't hurt her," he moaned, pulling his bleeding arm back through the bars, "please..."

"... **open the door...** "

"Fuck off," he groaned, coughing a wad of thick dark blood onto the carpet.

" **...open the door... or I will crush her skull...** " the creature rasped as it pulled Julie from the floor, its hand wrapped firmly around her face.

Julie writhed in the things grasp, and R struggled to his knees, cradling his wounded arm.

"Stop it!" he yelled, "I'll do it!"

Groaning and shaking with pain, he lifted himself from the floor, catching the bars to steady himself as the room spun wildly.

Was that the infection? It was odd... There was no spreading chill, no numbness at the bite Julie had given him. It throbbed horribly, and bled profusely - his hand was slick with blood as he fumbled with the lock and latch - but that was all. How fucking long was this going to take?

He wiggled the pin free finally, and lifted the latch, and the door exploded outward as the creature dropped Julie and came at him, its long skeletal hands wrapping tightly about his neck.

R gurgled, and frantically clawed at the things fingers, but it did not ease its grip.

" **I was right** **... about the girl** ," it growled, then drew him near, turning him slightly as its arched nostrils flared. " **You stopped fighting...** "

It threw him roughly into the cage, and stalked in after him as he staggered to his feet with a gasp, clutching his side.

" **...when you are mine again...** " the thing rumbled, " **...the rest... will lose hope... and follow** "

The things dark gaunt shape was terrifying in the small space of the bedroom, and R found himself backing away as he faced it, struggling to breathe through lungs that felt like they were setting in concrete.

" **Your father, the military man... they come here... you will take them... for me...** "

"I won't," R growled back, coughing wetly again. "They'll... kill you."

The creature's thin shriveled lips pulled back in a sneer. " **No. This body perhaps... but the girl... has served her purpose... though I would... regret... the loss of another... avatar...** "

"Rachel..." R whispered.

" **Yes. She did well... drawing you here...** "

He blinked, "She didn't do that for you."

" **No?** " The thing sounded amused. " **Are you sure?** "

R's stomach twisted. Was he? Had this all been a trap to bring him here? No, he couldn't believe that. She was too desperate, too concerned about her brother, too ready for him to kill her. That couldn't have been an act.

Could it?

A heavy thickness in his chest made him cough suddenly, and another wad of dark blood spilled from his mouth. It worsened until he was sure his lungs would come up next, and he doubled over, his side stabbing him with each frantic breath. Blood drenched the already stained carpet, and he stared at the growing pool, his skin flushed with fear.

 _Jesus..._  The room spun nauseatingly as he tried to stand up, sending him careening backwards into a broken bookcase.

The thing moved swiftly, grabbing him around the throat again, and lifted him clear of the ruined furniture. As it drew him closer, he reeled back from the stench of death and rot.

" **...something is wrong...** " it hissed, as it drew in his scent.

"No... shit," R gasped, his breaths wet gasps as his lungs continued to fill.

As the thing sniffed him again, his eyes fell over its shoulder to Julie, who was just now rising to her feet, her hair obscuring her face as she rose unsteadily.

Perhaps they would find each other again through this. Somehow find that connection again... both find life again.

_Change the world again._

The thought made him smile, even as the thing holding him growled and closed its hand tighter around his neck.

" **...the infection... has not taken hold... you are dying...** "

R choked, unable to get any leverage to ease the pressure on his throat, and panicked as his thoughts grew slippery. Not infected? Dying?

_But Julie... bit... me._

As his eyes sought her again, his heart jumped.

Vivid blue eyes rose to meet his, framed by golden hair and skin the color of a young rose, no longer pale, no longer sunken, no longer dead.

Julie was unbelievably, alive.

"R?" she said in a shaky voice, raising a trembling hand to her mouth, drenched in his blood. Her eyes blinked slowly and she wavered on her feet, as if she were just waking up.

The thing twisted its head suddenly, turning to Julie, and the jagged maw opened with a wild screech.

Frantic, R tried to tell her to run, but the grip around his throat tightened further, stopping the words short. He punched at the thing's skull, trying to get it to focus back on him. With a furious growl, the creature tossed him against the wall of the cage and started towards Julie.

" **...what... happened?!** " it screeched, its talons extended to take her.

"R!" Julie screamed, her eyes bulging as the nightmare drew near. Backing away, she looked around desperately, as if for an escape route or weapon.

Coughing, reeling from the impact with the steel bars, R tried to get to his feet, but his legs would not support him anymore. He fell, landing back against the cage wall, and the world started to grey out.

 _No! I can't lose it now!_  Shaking his head against the encroaching dark, he tried again to stand, his thoughts racing.

Julie was alive... no connection, no emotional bond had done that, she hadn't recognized him at all... she'd just bitten him, and his blood...

Something in his blood had changed her back...

R's eyes turned from her as she wrenched a shattered bedpost free to defend herself, and he focused on the skeleton, its head twisting back and forth as it took in her scent.

Was it possible? Would it work again?

Pulling himself up with the bars of the cage, R took a deep breath, wincing with the effort.

Then he roared, with everything he had. "HEY! ASSHOLE! You forget about me? You whHGK!" the words dissolved in another wet, bloody cough.

The things face, its eyeless sockets, swiveled to him and it snarled. Julie chose the moment to smash the bedpost over its skull with a wild yell.

It did nothing. The thing turned and back handed her casually against the wall. It advanced again, tangling brittle fingers in her hair as it pulled her off the ground. She wasn't moving.

"Come HERE you big FUCK!" he screamed, "Finish... what you started! You want me... on your side? Come get me!"

The monster turned back with a screech beyond fury, and throwing Julie to the floor, it cleared the space between them in one stride.

Again, the creature took him by the throat, lifting him high into the air, until his head brushed the ceiling.

"Go on..." R gasped desperately. "Do it!"

The thing drew near, its impossibly huge jaws opening wide, and R closed his eyes, terrified and exultant at what was about to happen. He could do it... he could save her... he could save all of them...

Laughter, like a sawblade dragged over steel, spilled from the creatures maw, and it pulled back.

" **...you think I am a fool?** " it growled, and threw him against the cage wall again. The impact knocked the breath out of him, and he fell to the floor with a groan.

" **...your blood... it is your** _ **blood**_ **...** " Snarling, it lifted R as he rolled to his side, then walked forward and slammed him hard against the bedroom wall.

The world blinked away for a moment in an explosion of pain, and R grunted, desperately trying to cling to the last bit of consciousness he had left.

They were both going to die if they didn't do something to end this... and there was only one person who could help now.

"Rachel..." he said, his voice strangely clear, as the thing slammed him back again and brilliant stars streaked through his vision.

R stared into the deep pits of the creatures eyes, as fresh blood poured from his nose and trickled down his neck, and imagined the girl, in there, watching him.

"Rachel..." he whispered.

" **She is GONE!** "

"Rachel... I'm sorry... I... killed you..." Another shattering impact stole his breath, and his head fell forward as the world blinked out again.

The thing roared, and its fingers clamped down hard on his throat.

R raised his head one last time, and when he spoke, it was a strangled rasp.

"Sorry but... I killed... Evan... too..."

With a furious screech, the creature's head snapped back, its mouth opening unnaturally wide as the horrible sound filled the room. Slowly, the sound changed, becoming an unearthly howl of rage and pain.

And then it struck.

The broken, splintered teeth swiftly closed over R's shoulder, sinking deeply through the skin and muscle below, and the pressure snapped his collarbone like a twig.

R screamed, jerking violently under its jaws as blood poured from the wound and down the creatures throat, spilling in rivulets over his skin.

A moment passed, and the dark skeleton shuddered, its teeth cutting in deeper as it did so, then out again, releasing him as it staggered back with a choked wail.

" **...cannot... kiiiill... me...** " it gurgled, falling back as it started to change, its grotesque proportions shrinking to the small frame of the mummified skeleton from where it had come.

R saw no more as he dropped to the floor, his body finally giving in to the merciful dark. But as his mind slipped quietly away, he heard the strangest sound.

The crying of a young girl.


	31. The Letting Go

Sobbing. Someone was sobbing... Julie's brow crinkled as she stirred, her head pounding heavily at her temples, her mouth filled with something salty and warm.

With a gasp, her eyes shot open, and she sat up, flinching backwards as her scrambled memories offered up a vision of the nightmarish creature that had attacked her.

But the thing was gone, and in front of her, curled on the floor against a shattered bookcase, lay a young girl, wrapped in tattered rags. The girl was shaking as she cried, her arms pressed over her face, hands curled and squeezed tight above her head, which was covered in a downy layer of fine hair.

The girl's distress drew Julie near, and she quickly shrugged off her jacket to wrap around the child's shaking frame. As she did so, she saw her own hands, and froze, staring at them.

They were spattered with blood.

"What...?" she croaked, and swallowed hard. Her throat felt strange... something in her mouth tasted funny...

The girl beneath her jacket trembled, and Julie reached down to gently stroke the child's head, not understanding where the girl had come from, not understand why her own hands were bloody. Her memories were strangely fragmented, and something felt... hidden.

Where was Rowan?

Images flashed in her mind like fireworks. R wrapped in blankets on a couch, so pale... something horrifying holding him... crying behind bars... his eyes so terribly sad... holding his arm... and...

 _I held his arm... and I..._  The memory resisted her, but tears welled in her eyes, sudden and strange, spilling down her cheeks, and she didn't know why.

Then it opened like a dark rose in her mind.

"Oh..." she choked, her hand rising to her mouth. It was wet. The tears streamed from her eyes as she pulled her hand away, shaking at the sight of the blood. "Oh.. god..."

Julie's stomach lurched, and quickly twisting away from the girl, she arched over the bloodstained carpet and vomited until her body could do no more. Then she turned away, her eyes squeezed tightly shut, not wanting to see what had come out.

And she cried.

The girls own sobs had ceased, and Julie could hear the child breathing slow and steady, as if asleep, as she slowly opened her eyes, her tears spent.

And saw R.

_Oh my god..._

"R!" With a choked cry, Julie scrambled to R's side, her mind reeling at the sight of his pale, battered body crumpled by the wall, covered in blood. The back of his head was wet with it, and the wall above dented and spattered, and a terrifying arc of jagged cuts circled his shoulder like the bite of a shark. The bruises over his side were dark and huge and strangely caved, and new bruises covered his neck and back in angry patches.

"R?" she whispered, her heart stuttering in panic. Too much blood... too much... he was so still... there was so much blood...

Slowly, carefully, she rolled him over, and moaned, fresh tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Noo..." she cried softly, her throat closing painfully, "Rowan... baby..."

R's face was a mess of bruises and cuts, swollen and bloody. Blood caked his nose, his mouth, the creases around his eyes, and ran in drying rivers down his chest, down his arms.

The wound was there. The one she had made, but she couldn't look at it, wouldn't.

Julie raised him gently, moving underneath him until she was supporting his head against her arm, and softly stroked his cheek. His breathing was terrifying. Too short... a rasping gurgle that spoke of fluid in the lungs.

"Rowan... I'm here... I've got you baby... you'll be okay," she whispered, and her heart sank as she realized it didn't feel true.

Slowly, his eyes opened, one flooded in shocking red, and his breathing hitched as his whole body squirmed in pain.

"Julie," he whispered, his eyes slowly finding her own.

"I'm here," she answered, and tried to smile at him through her tears, but the corners of her mouth kept tugging down. "I'm... god... Rowan... I..."

R swallowed thickly, and tried to shake his head, "Not.. your fault.."

The tears fell then, and she tried to cover her mouth... a mouth smeared with his blood. "I didn't mean... I hurt you.. I didn't, couldn't help my-"

"Julie..." he said softly, then his eyes widened as they drifted down and focused on something in front of him.

"What?" she asked, following his gaze. Seeing only bars, she looked back at him.

"I..." his breathing hitched again, wet and thick, and he stared up at her and smiled softly. "I love you Julie."

Fear flushed through her body, and she squeezed him close, "I... love you too Rowan, but what.."

"Mom's... here," he answered, and his eyes drifted down again, growing glazed as his breathing slowed, "wants me... to tell you... something"

Julie stared down at him in shock. His mom? But... his mom.. was dead?

_Oh god._

"No... R, look at me, you're okay... you're going to be okay," the words spilled out of her in a rush, her voice wavering in a wild, grieving panic. Cradling his face in her hands, she tried to get him to look at her, but his eyes were distant, focused somewhere in front of her. "God... no... R! You're not going anywhere!"

From down the hall came the sound of a heavy knocking, and a sharp barking command of someone outside the house.

The squad.

"WE'RE HERE! HELP!" she screamed towards the bedroom doorway, and looked down at R again.

His beautiful blue eyes were focused fully on her.

"S-she says..." He struggled to speak, his whole body tensing again as his breathing dwindled to a strangled, wet sigh.

"Don't... let me... go..."

Julie shook her head, sobs spilling from her as she smoothed the hair back from his forehead, and bent down to kiss his lips. "I'll never let you go R, I'm here, I'll always be here..."

When she drew away, his eyes didn't follow.

"No... don't... Rowan... look at me! Stay here!" Tears streaming down her face, she shook him, pressed her hand against his cheek, and tried to catch his eyes again.

They were fixed beyond her.

She froze.

"Breathe," she whispered. "Rowan... please breathe!"

A deafening, splintering crash sounded from downstairs, and the house was filled with the barks of men and the sound of heavy boots crashing down the hallway, and up the stairs.

R did not breathe.

Julie's world shrank away to the terribly still face of the man she loved. Even as a figure appeared at the doorway, barking something back down the hall before rushing forward, bending down to her, saying something.

R was gone.

The man reached out to hold her shoulder, saying something again, but she didn't hear it, not really. Removing his jacket, he draped it over R, then pulled his glove off and pressed his fingers against R's neck. He muttered something more, then lowered his head to R's chest, staying there for a while before pulling back.

More words were barked her way, but Julie ignored them, her eyes on Rowan's.

A hand fell again on her shoulder, as the man tried to pull R away. Julie only squeezed R tighter, staring down at his face.

_don't let me go_

The man shouted something over his shoulder, at two figures just entering the room. One moved past her, towards the girl she knew was still there, the other walked towards her, his voice questioning and a little lost, and sank to his knees.

Strong warm hands cupped her face, and the man's voice grew in strength and insistence, until she could no longer ignore it.

"Julie..." her father said softly, "Sweetheart, look at me."

Slowly she looked up into her father's eyes. They were gentle and drawn with worry.

"How long?" he asked gently, pressing his fingers to R's still neck.

Julie shook her head, her throat choked with tears, "Moments..."

"Okay, they need to do CPR. You have to let him go."

Her face crumpled as she shook her head.

"Please sweetheart, you can hold his hand, just... let them do what they need to."

Then her father reached out, and gathered R gently from her, lowering his still body to the floor. Desperately, she wrapped her hand around his own, the fingers slack and cool, and squeezed tight.

_never let you go_

Medics surrounded R, one placing a mask over his face, squeezing the bag above to deliver air, as another attempted compressions. Blood sprayed the inside of the mask as the man pumped, and the man swore loudly.

"Massive hemoptysis, probable lung trauma."

"Broken ribs," Julie whispered, staring at the blood pooling under the mask. She felt the warm arms of her father wrap around her, but stayed fixed on R, staring at his empty eyes.

"Julie... the blood on your face... are you hurt?" her father asked, and his words stabbed somewhere deep inside. As new tears spilled, she shook her head.

The medic handling the mask nodded at what she'd said, and pulled something from the nearby kit. "Confirmed lung trauma, major internal bleeding. Intubating, prepping AED."

"Copy that."

The medic moved slightly, blocking Julie's view of R's face. When he shifted back, a tube had been inserted in R's mouth, secured with medical tape. The roll was dropped in the bag again, and Julie suddenly reached for it with a shaking hand.

"Julie?" her father asked, "Let them work sweetheart."

"I need..." she whispered, and pressing the torn end of the tape against her hand, she started to wrap it around her own, then over R's hand and back across hers, again and again.

Binding them together.

The medic was still pumping furiously at R's chest, as his partner readied the AED. R's hand jerked slightly with every compression, and she kept winding the tape, over and over.

A strong hand squeezed her shoulder. "Julie... stop."

Pads were fixed to R's side and chest as the medic on compressions continued, until his partner took a pulse and waved him off, checking the display.

"Negative pulse. Analyzing now."

Shaking her head, the trembling in her hands worsening, she continued, until her father stilled her hand with his own. Gently, he took the roll from her, and pulled her into a hug, and her heart burst as she sobbed against him.

"No shock advised. CPR two minutes."

Static crackled from the comm at her father's hip, followed by a tinny voice, echoed faintly from below.

"Two female survivors tied downstairs in the basement, one male corpse, a live one, captured in the kitchen, lots of blood here sir."

Grigio brought the comm to his lips. "Copy that."

The soldier who'd covered R with his jacket brought his own comm up. "Two female survivors upstairs, one male victim, lots of blood here too Stevens, this place is a slaughterh-" The man stopped short, catching the glare from the Colonel.

"Get back downstairs," Grigio growled. "Bring the stretcher."

"Yes sir."

A minute passed, Julie holding on to R until her knuckles ached. She wanted to be closer, to wrap herself around him, but she couldn't. Pulling herself from her father, she lowered to rest her head on R's, and started to talk to him, as the medics continued compressions.

"Rowan, I'm here..." she whispered, closing her eyes.

"Get out of my way!" yelled a male voice from downstairs, answered by the rough protests of soldiers. Footsteps thundered up the stairs, and Julie opened her eyes as another figure burst into the room, stopping as if he'd been punched.

 _Mark... oh no._  Her heart trembled she watched his face fall in horrified shock.

"S-son?" he stuttered, his eyes taking in the bloodied form of his boy, the frantic efforts of the medics, and Julie's tear streaked face.

"Analyzing, hands off."

The medics pulled back, watching the display on the AED, as Mark stumbled forward.

"Mark, give them room," Grigio said firmly.

"Rowan..." Julie whispered again, staring down into his empty eyes, "Please..."

"No shock advised, dammit. No pulse. CPR again. Taylor, get the adrenaline."

"Copy that."

"What..." Mark looked at his son's swollen face, then Julie's, distraught. "What happened?!"

Taylor turned slightly, ready to give more compressions, and finally noticed Julie's hand wrapped and taped about R's.

"Have you been touching him the whole time?!" he snapped at her, resuming the compressions over R's chest. "Dammit Bill, we had... interference on those.. shock calls, we have.. to do it again!"

Her father leaned forward, and started to tear at the tape connecting them, trying to pull her hand free, "Let them work Julie, let him go."

"NO!" she shouted, and pushed his hands away, locking her fingers through R's. "Don't touch me! I can't let him go!"

"Rowan," Mark moaned, reaching out to hold the top of his boy's head. A sudden sob shook his body, " _Son?!_ "

"Julie!" Grigio barked, grasping her firmly by the wrist as he tore at the tape again, "Let go! They can't help him if you're holding him!"

The tape was almost gone, and he was prying their fingers apart, keeping her from pushing him away again. In desperation she looked around the room, trying to feel for R, to call him back, anything.

"R! You have to come back now!" she cried, as she felt her fingers slipping from his, "PLEASE!"

With a horrible wrench, her fingers slipped free, and their connection was broken.

* * *

_Bet a bunch of folks thought R was going to turn again, huh. R will never again become a corpse. At least, not the walking around kind._


	32. The Garden

Through the darkness, R grew aware of his body being lifted, being held, of someone with a beautiful voice speaking over him, crying.

Curious, he drifted up, and the pain squeezed around him like a trap. His whole body started to scream with it, stealing his breath as his eyes opened.

"Julie..." he whispered, as he looked up at her tear streaked face, her mouth smeared in his blood. Guilt poured from her as she spoke to him, and it made his heart hurt, he tried to make her understand it wasn't her fault, but she wouldn't see.

"Julie..." he started to say, interrupting her, wanting so much for her to listen and understand, but he never finished because someone stepped out in front of him. Someone beautiful, with a sad smile.

_Mom?_

"Sweetheart," she said softly, and her voice was breaking. "I'm so sorry."

"What?" Julie asked above him, looking towards his mom, then looking back down at him, confused.

Julie couldn't see her. Because his mom was dead.

But if he could see her... then...

"I..." he started, but the pain stole his breath again.

_I'm dying. That's what the thing said._

_Shit._

_I think this is it._

His eyes sought Julie's, and he smiled, feeling an incredible sense of love for her that drew the pain from his body. "I love you Julie."

Fear flashed in her eyes as she answered him back, with a question, and it hurt him to see her so scared, but there was nothing he could do about it.

"Rowan, tell her something for me, it's important," his mom said suddenly.

"Mom's... here," he said, hoping that was answer enough for Julie, and his eyes drifted down again. Breathing was growing too hard, and his body was starting to pull away now.

"wants me... to tell you... something"

Julie went incredibly still, then started to panic, but he barely felt her as she held his face and spoke in frantic, distraught tones above him, trying to pull him back. He couldn't yet, he was listening.

Claire smiled, and moved forward to take his hand, squeezing it gently. How could he feel that if she was dead?

"Tell her... not to let you go," she said, and smiled.

But his body was too quiet now, how was he supposed to do that?

Then Julie yelled something above him, and his eyes snapped up to her. When she looked back down, he used everything he had left to give her the message.

And when he did, he felt confused, and looked at his mom again. "Don't let me go? What, she's supposed to hold me till they put me in the grave? What the hell mom?"

Claire laughed, the sound tinkling around him like bells, and she pulled at his hand. "C'mon, let me help you up."

With her help, he pulled himself to his feet, and breathed a deep easy breath. It felt incredibly good to be free from the pain. To be able to breathe properly again.

Then his skin flushed as he looked down at himself. His body was whole, no longer covered in blood, and he was wearing those goddamn superman briefs again.

"Mom!" he yelped, and crossed his hands over himself, completely embarrassed.

"But they were so cute on you as a kid!" She laughed, then shook her head with a smile. "I'm sorry sweetheart, I just figured you didn't want to be completely naked."

"No... I didn't..." Rowan sighed softly and hung his head. "Mom... I don't want to be dead."

Claire's smile turned sad. "I know sweetheart."

"If I turn around am I going to see myself?"

"Yes," she answered simply, looking past him towards the ground, her expression pained.

"See myself dead," he stated flatly.

"Yes. And it's horrible. You've suffered so much honey... I'm so sorry." Tears welled in his mother's eyes as she looked back up at him.

Slowly, he turned around.

"Oh Jesus Christ," he cried, his mouth open in shock. "No wonder I'm dead, look at that! My head looks like a fucking basketball!"

Claire sighed. "Language, Rowan."

Julie was holding his body, frozen, staring down in horror at his still face.

Slowly, he sank opposite her, and reached out to her, only to stop halfway as he realized what would happen. "Julie... shit... I'm sorry."

"Breathe," she whispered. "Rowan... please breathe!"

His voice cracked as he watched her, "I... I can't Julie... I'm not... there anymore."

It broke his heart, to watch her, withdrawn in shock, holding him. He couldn't reach her, he couldn't make it better. He'd never be able to again. Frowning, his head hanging, he stood up, just as the soldier ran into the room.

"Found her! Two others, wounded!" the man yelled back down the hall, before rushing in and bending over Julie.

Rowan groaned, "Mom, everyone's going to see my junk!"

Claire rolled her eyes.

"Are you hurt?" the soldier asked, but Julie didn't respond, so he reached for her shoulder and squeezed it gently. "Julie, are you hurt?"

The man's eyes fell to R's body, and he quickly shrugged off his jacket and draped it over him.

Rowan looked at the soldier, trying to catch the man's eye, "Hey... thanks."

The man didn't react, as Rowan knew he wouldn't, so he sighed and watched as the man tried to find his pulse, swore as he couldn't find any, and tried to pull R's body from Julie's arms.

More people filled the room.

Another soldier walked directly through him, to a part of the room he hadn't even glanced at. What he saw when he turned hit him like a blow to the chest.

"Oh my god... Rachel..." he gasped, watching as the soldier examined the young girl, then lifted her gently off the floor. "Mom... she's..."

Claire placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and smiled, "Yeah, she is. You did that sweetheart. You brought her back."

The ache in his chest grew, and he found himself suddenly crying, just as the man walked back towards him with the girl in his arms. Quickly Rowan sidestepped, and hastily wiped at the tears on his face as they passed. "I... I..." he started, but couldn't continue.

"I know," his mom said softly, and gathered him up in a hug that was warm and wonderful. The tears squeezed from his eyes again and he cried against her for a little while.

"I think," he said quietly, sniffing as he finally pulled away, "I think I feel better about going now."

Claire smiled, and raised an eyebrow in that way he remembered very well from last time. Like she had a secret, or the punchline of a joke, and was holding it for just the right time.

Rowan cocked an eyebrow, and was about to ask, when a voice he recognized filled the room.

"Julie? Honey?" It was the Colonel behind him, and he turned around to watch as Julie's father tried to reach her through the cloud of shock. The man's voice was shattered at first, then steadied, growing stronger as he spoke, until finally he asked her to look up, and she did.

Rowan groaned, listening to the despair in Julie's voice. "Mom... I can't take this. Can we go?"

Claire gave a half smile, "Go? Where did you want to go?"

Rowan frowned, growing frustrated, "I dunno, up? Where people go when they die? Heaven? I can't watch her suffer Mom, I can't handle it."

Claire leaned up, pulling his head down gently, and kissed him softly on the forehead, "I know Rowan."

Then she giggled. "Up?"

"Whatever," he said with a smirk, and when he raised his head, they were no longer in the caged bedroom.

They were home.

Bright, warm light streamed through the large bay windows of the living room, streaming over furniture and rugs in colorful patterns of ochres, reds and earthy golds. The fireplace flickered, tongues of flame dancing over real wood, filling the room with a comforting warmth. Photos, books and knick knacks covered the surface of every shelf, making the room feel loved, alive with life and a haven for the curious.

Rowan smiled, his mind spilling over with memories of home. The board games and movie nights in front of the fireplace, the races around the couch with his brother. Fights with cardboard tubes in every space between, breaking treasures that were just glued back together and replaced on the shelves. Countless birthday parties, and parent-free parties that always got him in trouble, no matter how hard he cleaned up. Tears shed on the couch as they heard that mom was sick, and the terrible silence that fell when she died.

The smile faded a little, and he sighed. "I don't get it. Heaven is home?"

Claire smiled softly at him and shook her head, "This isn't heaven sweetie. It's just home again, the way I want to remember it." She took his hand then and pulled him towards the back door. "Come here for a minute. I want to show you something."

"Okay?" Rowan answered, and let himself be pulled. "No, wait, wait wait. Give me a second, this is ridiculous."

She raised an eyebrow at him, and he left, heading through the hallway, up the stairs, and into his bedroom. It looked just as it had the last time he'd been here. Diving into his chest of drawers he pulled out a pair of jeans and a blue baseball tee and hastily threw them on, covering the embarrassment of his underwear.

As he was pulling the top over his head, he glanced at the shelves above his bed and spotted the baseball he'd caught at his first game.

"Huh." Walking over, he picked it up and tossed it in the air a couple of times. "Mom," he yelled out the door, "I know this ball is sitting on dad's shelf in the city, why's it here?"

The ball didn't fall back into his hand.

He looked up, down at the floor, over at the bed, spun around. But the ball was gone.

"Crap," he muttered. He'd changed things again, by poking too hard at what he was seeing.

Crossing his arms, he stood in the middle of the room. "What's this place really look like?" he said to the empty air.

Slowly, the warm light, the childhood clutter, the cozy clean bedding all changed. Grey light shone through windows framed with the tattered remnants of curtains, weakly illuminating a faded, stripped bed, the mattress askew and showing signs of industrious rodents. The carpet was stained where the ceiling above sagged with heavy water damage, and the furniture was dulled under a layer of dust. A few of his figures remained, a couple of old tattered stuffed toys in a corner, and some textbooks, and that was all.

It was abandoned, dark. Dead.

Just like he was.

"Really sorry I asked," he said with a sigh, and turned and left the room.

As he made his way back to his mom, the house changed again, back into the vision of warmth and love he remembered from his childhood. The shadow of his room fell away from him and he smiled as he followed his mom out of the house and into the back yard.

"Okay. This is really important. You have to remember this," his mom said, pulling him to a corner of the yard, where she'd been working on a vegetable patch by a tool shed a few years before she'd died.

At first, as they approached, the garden was alive with vibrant color, every flower budding to its fullest, bumblebees drifting drunkenly from stem to stem. The vegetable patch was bursting with vivid greens, ripe red tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers and butternut squash. The sky above was a brilliant blue, and colorful birds darted back and forth to a feeder under a big pine.

"If only it looked this good when I was alive," Claire said with a laugh. "I'll admit, I could get a flower to grow, but these damn vegetables..."

Slowly, the patch changed, and the plants withered and fell to the dirt as weeds sprouted and died, leaving a matted mass of brown vines and grasses.

"This is how it looks now," she said with a sigh. "I wasn't happy that your dad let this stuff go. I worked so hard on it, and it was such a waste."

Rowan smirked, "Dad was lethal to green things mom, you knew that. They died a much more humane death this way."

Claire gave a short laugh, shaking her head. Then she reached out and held Rowan's hand. "Anyway, this is important," she said softly, squeezing his hand as she looked up at him. "I need you to tell your dad to dig here. Tell him I left a treasure for him to find. Tell him... that's my message."

Rowan frowned. "But... mom, how do I do that? I'm dead, he can't hear me."

Claire gave him a sly smile.

Exasperated, he crossed his arms and stared at his mother. "Mom!"

She burst into giggles, and despite his frustration he found himself chuckling, unable to help himself, yet again caught up in her laughter.

"Mom, come on... is this like last time?" he asked, hope sparking within him. "I'm not really dead?"

Claire smiled sadly, "No sweetheart, you really died this time."

The hope faded.

"But..." she added, and rubbed his hand gently.

"But?" he asked, then his eyes widened, "Wait.. there's a but? Can I go back?!"

Claire gave him a bittersweet smile. "I asked Julie to hold you for a reason, sweetheart. If you were any other person, if you didn't have the incredible connection you two have, there would be no going back. We'd be going somewhere... up... right now." She winked at him.

"But we're not..."

"No... one day, but not today. The only thing is, love, this is going to hurt. I'm so sorry."

"I don't care Mom... I just... I want to hold her again. I want to make it better. I want to  _be_ better." Rowan closed his eyes and sighed then, a deep sigh, that seemed to shed a heavy weight from his chest. "I want to have a future... I want to _live_. I deserve that."

"Oh Rowan..." his mom said, and he could hear the tears in her voice, "it's good to hear you say that."

"S-son?"

Rowan's eyes snapped open at the distraught voice of his father, and he reeled from the scene in front of him.

The garden had disappeared. They were back in the caged room, in the corner, watching his father react to the sight of R's bloody body, wired with patches to the AED.

Claire squeezed his hand hard, her face falling at the sight of her husband's pain.

"Dad..." Rowan whispered, his heart twisting as the grief and shock rolled off his dad and Julie, and washed over him, drowning him. "Oh god... Dad, don't look."

"Analyzing, hands off," one of the medics said, and they both leaned away, giving Rowan a clear view of his own body.

Rowan groaned, "They've shoved a tube down my throat again!"

His father stumbled forward, and R moved towards him, instinctively wanting to comfort him.

"Mark, give them room," Grigio said, barking orders, as usual.

"Oh shut up," Rowan snapped at the Colonel as he neared his dad. The horror and disbelief cascading from his father almost sent him to his knees.

"Rowan..." Julie whispered, "Please..."

The sound tugged at him physically. He felt the first stirrings of pain in his side.

"Ouch," he whispered, and held his arm across his chest.

His mom was looking at him sadly. "Very soon now sweetheart. Keep strong, okay?"

"Yeah," he hissed, wincing as the pain increased incredibly. The tugging got stronger, and his head started to pound like a massive drum.

Claire squeezed his hand again. "Before you go, I have something to give you."

Something was happening with Julie behind him, she was getting more and more agitated, the distress piercing him like the pain in his side, but he couldn't turn away, he was caught by his mom's beautiful eyes as she smiled at him.

"Something that's going to help you. Something really quite wonderful."

His shoulder flared suddenly, the collarbone screaming at him in sudden agony, and he groaned. "H-hurry m-mom... oh god..."

"You have the life experiences of hundreds of people in your incredible mind. Among them a doctor... teachers... artists... engineers... musicians, and so many more. The knowledge is yours sweetheart. Use it, don't hide from it. Make the difference they can no longer make. Be  _better._ "

The words embedded in his heart, and his eyes filled with sudden tears, even as his whole body went rigid with agony.

Claire placed a cool hand on his cheek, and stroked her thumb there. A smile of utter love spread on her face.

"Goodbye sweetheart. I love you. Always and forever."

"R! You have to come back! PLEASE!" Julie cried.

There was a terrifying wrench, a sudden slamming feeling, as if he'd fallen to bare concrete from a hundred feet up, and his world exploded in pain. Raw, violent sensation flooded him - the blazing fires of a hundred terrible wounds, of lungs drowning in blood, of a head cracked and open to the world, of the choking tube in his throat.

It overwhelmed him, threatening to drive him out again, but Julie's hand held him in place...

...her hand... was slipping.

Her hand was gone.

The pain started to pull away, and the strangest sensation of floating enveloped him, the feeling of being lifted, of drifting...

Up.

_No! I want to live! I deserve LIFE!_

R grasped at the pain he was leaving behind, pulling it into himself and embracing it hungrily, reconnecting every cell to the network of electrical agony coursing through his body. His limbs flared back into life, his chest rose under the medics hands, his eyes shot open and he gasped through the tube thrust down his throat.

And his arm, through the jagged edges of a broken collarbone, shot out, the hand seeking, finding and enveloping Julie's own.

And he held on tight.

* * *

 _There are quite a few places in my story, where I brought myself to tears recording what was playing in my head. This is one of those moments._ _Way to go R :)_


	33. The Understanding

Time froze as Julie's hand slipped from R's, and she felt a shuddering, aching sense of loss inside, an ending, a  _leaving_ that she'd later be unable to wrap words around and explain. But R, as empty as his eyes were, as lifeless as his body was, somehow seemed to dull even more, to thin out, until the body before her felt more like a shell with no substance at all.

Devastated, her heart collapsed in on itself, and she squeezed her eyes shut against an overpowering grief, unable to handle seeing anything more.

"Holy!" one of the medics yelled in front of her, and she flinched as the sound tore through the dark place she'd retreated into.

Then from nowhere, a hand brushed against hers, and cool fingers sought and threaded desperately through her own.

And squeezed.

With a startled gasp, echoed by a sharp cry from Mark and the Colonel around her, Julie opened her eyes and saw R, alive, his bloodied hand wrapped around her own, squeezing her so hard his knuckles were white.

His battered, bloodied body was rigid, arched in pain as he gasped wetly through the tube down his throat, his eyes blinking and squeezing shut as his mouth moved around the plastic in his attempts to breathe, to speak.

"R!" Pushing away from her father, she wrapped her arms around R's chest and his head, kissing his cheek as she cried, her heart bursting back into life. Frantically, she told him how much she loved him, and thanked him over and over for coming back to her.

At her words, at the touch of her mouth against his skin, and as he focused on her, his body seemed to relax, growing calm as he sank back to the carpet, and the creases of pain around his eyes eased.

She watched as he tried to say her name around the tube, and slowly rolled his eyes in what she took to be frustration. The effect was so incongruous she laughed, pressing her forehead against his temple, and started to cry again, relief riding the wave the laughter brought.

"Well.. damn..." mumbled Bill, the medic, his eyes wide, as he sat back on his legs. Then he seemed to gather himself, grabbing some sealed tubing and needle packets from his kit. "Setting up IV, blood."

The other medic, Taylor, didn't say anything for a moment as he stared down at R and Julie, then nodded slowly and grabbed the blood bag in readiness, shaking his head. "Never seen that before Bill."

"I hear you. Line's in, we need to get him on the stretcher."

R pulled his arm away as Bill finished taping the needle, and slowly reached up.

His father had watched everything with a numb shock, bent over R with his hand resting on his son's shoulder. Julie watched as R's hand rose to the side of his father's face, and gently his cool fingers patted there, seeking to reassure, to comfort.

Mark gave another choked sob, and grasped his son's hand desperately, squeezing it, patting it, as the tears fell down along his jaw.

"Son... don't ever,  _ever_ do that to me again, okay?" he whispered, and looked down at R with a fragile smile.

R gave a slight nod, trying to smile around the tube, and slowly, his eyes drifted shut.

For a moment, everyone held their breath, except for Julie, who could still feel the steady soft beat of R's heart against her skin. Could still feel him  _inside_ , calm and peaceful.

Then Bill spoke up, as he watched R carefully, catching the soft rise and fall of his chest, "He's out. Let's get him in the truck."

"Wait a moment," the Colonel said quietly, and everyone turned to look at him. The craggy lines of his face were sharply thoughtful, and Julie felt her heart squeeze in worry over what he would do next.

John Grigio took the tape out of the kit again, and slowly, methodically, wrapped it around Julie's and R's entwined hands. Then he stroked her hair gently and gave her a soft smile.

"I'm sorry sweetheart. I should have listened to you."

He glanced up at his men, his face going from concerned father to military commanded in one beat.

"These two are not to be separated for any reason. That's an order."

"Yes... sir?" Taylor answered, and shrugging at each other, the two medics looked to Julie to assist as they gently lifted R up and onto the stretcher.

As the men prepared to leave, gathering their kit, and securing R for transport, Mark engulfed Julie in a warm embrace.

"Thank you," he whispered, and pulled back, brushing his lips on her forehead with a relieved smile. His brow flickered briefly in confusion as he glanced at her mouth, and she knew he was finally noticing the blood. But he seemed to catch the sudden pain in her eyes, and let it be with a nod, turning to help the medics with the stretcher.

Julie stayed by R's side as they guided the stretcher through the cage door, down the stairs, and out of the shadowed house into the cold, bright light of a sunny winter day. The crisp gold from the brilliant sun fell across R's face, illuminating his terrible injuries with a shocking vividness. Julie squeezed his hand tighter at the sight, her eyes stinging with new tears.

Someone had beaten him terribly. Probably the same asshole who'd brained her with a shovel, but she had no idea where that guy was, or where the girl had been taken. The truck they were led into, roughly converted into an ambulance, had only enough room for the two medics, R and herself.

As they pulled away, and she watched the blue house disappear around the corner from the back of the truck, exhaustion swamped her. Her eyes started to droop as she watched the men working around R, bandaging his worst wounds. They'd been astounded at the extent of his injuries, wondering aloud where each had come from, but Julie had just tried to block it all out, not wanting to hear anymore.

Taylor lifted R's forearm as he worked, revealing a horribly jagged hole. "Uh oh," he said quietly.

As Julie saw the wound, the exhaustion fell from her, replaced with a sudden rush of shame and disgust.

"Bill, you see this? Looks like a corpse bite," the medic asked, pressing around the edges with his latex gloves.

Bill nodded, peering over after taping gauze on R's shoulder. "Yeah, caught that, wasn't sure though, wrong color. Julie, you know the story there?"

Wincing, Julie pulled her legs up to her chest against the side of the truck, wishing she could just disappear. Drawing her hand up to her mouth, subconsciously trying to cover the blood that she could still feel crusted there, she shook her head.

"Damn, deep sucker," Taylor muttered, then glanced at R's face. "Weird, but, he doesn't look infected. Think we should restrain him anyway?"

Julie shook her head frantically, her hand falling from her face. "Don't... please... he's not infected."

"How do you know?" Bill asked, peering at her. Then his eyes fell to her mouth, as if he was noticing it for the first time. "Geez, I'm sorry Jules, just a minute."

"I'm fine, I don't-" She stopped as Bill shifted to her and cradled her jaw, lifting her face to take a closer look.

"Don't see a cut..." he said slowly, dabbing at the skin around her mouth with a wipe. "This isn't yours, is it." It was a statement, not a question, and he tilted his head at R. "His?"

Julie didn't say anything. She couldn't. She'd just start crying if she tried.

"Geez honey," Bill chided, "you've got to be careful. I know you don't think about that stuff when you're trying to save someone you love, but if he was infected..."

Julie blinked, and stared up at Bill. The medic must have thought she'd tried to give Rowan CPR. Relief swelled in her, and she nodded quietly and let him finish.

"Here," he said afterwards, offering another wipe. "For your hands."

Taylor finished bandaging R's arm. "So, decision on the restraints?"

"He's not infected," Julie said again, furiously wiping the blood from her fingers, working around the tape her dad had bound them with. She reached for another wipe and started rubbing at her mouth again, till her skin started to sting.

Bill shrugged. "I've seen a lot of infected folks Taylor, I don't see it here. Let's leave him be."

Finally feeling as if she'd scoured her face clean, Julie sank back against the side of the truck, wedged as she was next to R's stretcher. Her eyes drifted to the side of his bruised, swollen face, slack in sleep and immobilized in a neck brace and cradle. He looked so shockingly vulnerable. Too pale. Thin strips of tape closed cuts on his brow and cheek, and the tube from his mouth had been hooked up to a small unit she guessed was a ventilator.

Echoes of the past again. Hooked up to a machine, and there was nothing she could do. She hated it. Giving his hand a soft squeeze, she slowly relaxed, letting her head fall against the side of the stretcher.

She'd brought him back. That was all that mattered.

And somehow, he'd brought her back.

Julie's eyes flicked open as she sat there, gently rocked by the motions of the truck. She'd been so focused on R she hadn't even really fully processed what had happened to her. As she watched Bill and Taylor sitting and talking over his body, the reality sank in.

A couple of hours ago, she'd been dead. She'd been a  _corpse_.

The memories, her thoughts from that time were strange. Hollow and numb. The world didn't  _feel_ the same, though it wasn't like she had no sense of it. She remembered the cold... the absolute emptiness. She remembered the warmth she'd felt when she'd grasped R's arm through the bars, remembered his scent, how  _incredible_ that smell had been.

_Oh dear god, I don't want to think about that right now._

The taste. Despite herself, she remembered what it had felt like to bite R, and she groaned, squeezing her arm around her head as she lay against the stretcher, the sensations washing over her like a bitter tide.

R was right. She understood now, completely, what he'd said back on the airplane. That it was everything. The only thing that mattered. At that moment, it had been.

She turned and stared at him again, at the dark lashes around his bruised eyes clumped with bloody tears.

She was reeling from biting one person. R had killed hundreds. How terrible to carry that around inside. To hold so much guilt and grief. No wonder it hurt him so much. No wonder he'd tried to push her away.

As a warm tear fell slowly down her cheek, she reached out and brushed her fingers gently against his face. His skin was startlingly cool under her touch, and she frowned, not liking that at all.

"He's cold," she said out loud, concern pushing the words from her mouth.

Taylor leaned over, pulling off his glove to press against R's cheek. He nodded.

"His body's in shock, and he's lost a lot of blood." He pointed at the red bag suspended over the stretcher, hooked into R's IV line, "We're pumping it into him as fast as we can, but until we get to the hospital there's not much else we can do."

Julie nodded mutely, and propped her chin on the stretcher, staring down at R's hand as she rubbed her thumb along his.

"Frankly, he should be dead," he added.

"Taylor," Bill sighed, "come on, that's not something she wants to hear."

Julie frowned and tried to block them out again, focusing only on the cool touch of R's skin against her own. The weariness crept back, stronger than before, and slowly her eyes drifted shut, the rocking motion of their travel gently lulling her to sleep.


	34. The Doctor

A gentle shaking brought Julie up from a numb void, and she flinched back from the source, her heart hammering as she tried to get her bearings, blinking against the bright outside light pouring into the truck.

"Easy, easy Jules. We're at the hospital, we need to move R in. Let me help you up."

It was Bill, and he offered a hand for her to grab, then lifted her to her feet. Her body protested in loud aches, crammed as it had been against the stretcher, and she winced as they started to move, slowly lifting R up and off the truck.

Stephen was there to meet them, his eyes sharp with concern. He waved them through, giving Julie's shoulder a brief squeeze before they transferred R off of the ambulance stretcher onto a mobile bed.

The medics gave their report, and Stephen's brow pinched further with every injury they'd been able to assess. X-rays were immediately taken of R's chest, shoulder and head, and Julie flinched at his bedside in ICU as Stephen swore loudly looking at the film.

Dan and a new doctor she'd never seen before were brought in and they quickly poured over the x-rays with Stephen, planning the next stages of surgery. The new doctor, an older woman with deep brown skin, bright eyes and a thick ponytail, peered over Stephen's shoulder at one point and stared at Julie, frowning thoughtfully.

"Ah, why are they taped together?" she asked, pointing.

"Don't ask," offered Dan.

Stephen smirked at his coworker, then turned back to the new doctor. "Because, Tianna, his likelihood of survival seems directly proportional to her proximity."

Tianna blinked. "What?"

"I said don't ask," Dan answered, squeezing the bridge of his nose.

R was quickly prepped for surgery and Julie felt a deep trepidation as she walked into the operating room, remembering the last time she'd been there. Dan had been pumping furiously at R's chest, blood pooling beneath his hands from a wound her knife had made, and R had been so shockingly still. It had been horrible, and not something she ever thought she'd see  _in_  the hospital.

They lifted R onto the operating table, and Julie felt the trepidation magnify. As they hooked him up to the equipment, and uncovered the nearby trays lined with scalpels, clamps, and other intimidating instruments she didn't recognize, it dawned on her that she was about to see them cut R open.

Stephen must have seen her pale dramatically, because he quickly organized a chair she could sit on, facing away from their work.

Tianna stared at Stephen, her eyes widening as she gestured to Julie. "She's not staying?!"

Stephen raised an eyebrow in return, glancing over at Julie in mock surprise, "She isn't? But she looks so darn comfortable!"

Dan groaned, "Stephen."

Stephen smirked, then looked apologetic. "Sorry Tianna. Yes, she is staying, and I know it's highly irregular, but... just trust me on this."

Tianna looked at Julie, then back at Stephen, then muttered something under her breath with a little shake of her head as she looked down at a tray.

They set to work quickly. Surgery was long, and Julie caught herself nodding off a few times, starting awake each time her head dipped.

As they were wrapping up, Julie braved a quick look as Tianna closed the incisions they had made, setting neat rows of stitches. The lady's eyes were bloodshot as she glanced at Julie but she gave a small smile behind her mask. Dan had already left the room, and Stephen was busy preparing the equipment for transport back to ICU.

By the time they left the OR, Julie wanted nothing more than to sink into oblivious sleep and leave the terrible day behind. She stumbled while walking around the ICU bed to R's other side, as they fitted the arm she had been holding into a sling to support the healing of his broken collarbone. She hadn't even known it'd been broken, and was horrified at the thought of the pain she may have caused him holding on.

After an awkward toilet break on a portable commode, they brought a bed over for her, nudging it up against R's, negotiating it around the equipment he was connected to. Julie was terribly thankful he wasn't on the ECMO again, it was just the ventilator, IV's and drains, the heart and oxygen monitor and something in a sensitive area she really, really hoped they removed before he woke up.

He lay still, save for the mechanically even rise and fall of his chest, deeply under. She stared at him, watching him breathe, wondering if he was dreaming, wondering where he was in his mind. Slowly, her eyes started to drift closed as she lay there beside him. Even over the hiss and pop of the ventilator and the steady beep of the heart monitor, the room was peacefully quiet, and she quickly dozed off.

"Julie..."

Julie opened her eyes and looked over. R, naked and spattered in blood, was sitting across from her, his head pressed against the bars separating them, teeth clenched in pain.

Something was in her mouth, something incredible...

Dazed by need, she bit down harder, her teeth sawing through the glorious meat. Warm juices ran over her chin as she gulped chunks of it down, almost moaning with pleasure. Life sparked within her, and as she looked over at him, pulling briefly from her meal, her face broke into a wide smile.

"God R, you have to have some of this, it's... amazing."

Rowan sagged against the bars and his eyes rose falteringly to hers, hooded in pain. "Julie..."

Julie felt a trickle of sudden dread. What was she eating? Why was R looking at her like that?

Slowly her eyes dropped to her meal.

Her mind stuttered. Held tight in her grey, bloody hands, was R's arm. Pale, save for the deep red jagged wound where her teeth had gnawed through skin and muscle. Severed muscle fibers quivered in the bleeding ruin of his forearm as his hand twitched, spasming in pain.

Julie's mouth opened as if to scream, her eyes growing wide in horror, but no sound, no breath moved within her, and as the silent scream echoed only in her head, she raised the bloody gift to her mouth to gorge again.

"Julie!"

With a terrified cry, Julie jerked up, twisting away from the hand that had fallen on her shoulder, only to find herself suddenly bound up. She flailed wildly, trying to free herself, and hands closed on her shoulders, trying to hold her still.

"Stop! You're okay!"

Her eyes snapped open, and her struggles slowed as she finally realizing where she was. Stephen was talking to her, she was in the hospital, her hand was bound in R's...

The image of R's hand twitching flickered in her mind.

Julie burst into sudden tears, turning to curl away from R, drowning in the horror of what she'd done, what she'd just relived. She sobbed for a long while, but it made no dent in the guilt she felt. She didn't think it ever would.

When she finally gathered herself and looked up from the bed, Stephen was standing in front of her, holding a box of tissues, his expression sympathetic.

He didn't say anything, just offered the box to her. With a soft thank you, she took one in shaking hands and cleared her nose, before slowly sitting up and casting a forlorn glance at R.

The pale blue tubing of the ventilator was twitching above his still face. He hadn't moved, and gave no sign of waking up, but his hand felt warmer in her own and she took that as a comfort.

The wound she had made in his forearm was bandaged, but seeping. She quickly turned away, her eyes haunted, and looked back over at Stephen.

His brown eyes swung to hers from the bite wound, and she saw something pass briefly there, something sharply thoughtful that dissipated quickly to warmth again as he gave a small smile.

"Hey," he said softly. "Feeling better?"

Julie nodded, and pulled another tissue from the box he'd laid aside on a nearby tray. Next to the box was a cup of water and a plate covered with a green cloth.

"Thought you might be hungry," he said, with a quick gesture to the tray.

With a soft sigh of gratitude she grabbed the cup and took a large drink. The water was cool and delicious and incredibly welcome. She took another swig and started swishing it around in her mouth, desperate to be free of the disturbing medley of bile and blood that still lingered. With her mouth full, she glanced around, realizing it had to go somewhere, and not wanting to spit back into her cup. The feel of  _things_  floating in her mouth almost made her throw up again.

Stephen grabbed a kidney tray from a nearby shelf and handed it to her. "Here."

_Crap._

She didn't want him to see what was coming out of her mouth, and really, really, didn't want to see it herself, but she didn't want to swallow it either. Looking away, she quickly spat into the dish, then swished and spat again and again, finally handing it back to Stephen.

His eyes dipped briefly to the tray as he took it, and she saw a flicker of surprise there before he turned and placed the dish on the desk near the door.

Julie's face was burning. She had to tell him. She had to tell someone about this. It was huge, and the implications were incredible. She could see that. But her heart shrank from the idea.

She didn't want anyone to know what she'd done. How... wrong it made her feel. How would people look at her? How would her dad look at her, if he knew?

She stayed silent.

Stephen returned and swung the tray by the bed around. "You should really eat something," he said softly, lifting the cloth from the plate. Underneath was an apple and two protein bars.

Julie frowned and looked down at her hands. The idea of biting into anything right now made her stomach turn. She shook her head.

"Not even the apple?" Stephen covered the plate again and pulled a chair over from against the wall. He sat down and crossed his arms. "I thought you loved apples?"

Something in his voice made Julie look at him, and the look he was giving her was strange. Calculated. She didn't like it.

"Julie, what happened?" he asked, leaning forward on the chair. "I have to ask, because I have three patients in the other room and a corpse in lock down, all from the same house, all unable or unwilling to talk."

Julie stared at him, "Three?"

Stephen nodded, "Yeah. There's the young girl who was wearing your jacket when she was brought in, and a mother and daughter who were found tied up in the basement. The mother was dehydrated and unresponsive, the daughter had to be sedated, and the girl won't talk except to ask for 'Evan', who may or may not be the corpse."

Julie was stunned, then remembered the soldier's report through the comm back at the house. She'd had no idea there were other people trapped there, and her mind reeled at what it could mean. What was the guy going to do with them?

"Speaking of the corpse," Stephen added, scratching his fingers along his temple, "he's aggressive at a level I haven't seen since Rowan's change. I'm surprised the soldiers didn't just destroy him."

With a strangely intense expression, Stephen looked up at her again. "We'd thought at first that the corpse was responsible for the bite on Rowan's arm, but he's not infected. And, the bite is too small for that corpse to have made." He paused for a moment. "Do you have anything to offer about that?"

Julie's skin prickled, and she sat frozen. She knew she should be saying something, confessing to what she'd done, but the words would not leave her tongue.

Stephen leaned forward, lacing his fingers together as he pointed to her.

"Because the bite is closer to the size of  _your_ jaw, Julie. The Colonel mentioned the blood on your face. Bill did too, though he seemed to think you'd given Rowan CPR. But seeing what you just spat up, how you reacted to food, to the bite itself, and how you're reacting to what I'm saying right now, I think I'm onto something."

Julie stared at Stephen, her heart pounding, suddenly feeling as if she couldn't get enough air. Like her chest was being squeezed in a vice. Clenching her hands, she started to panic, unsure of what to say, and felt a ridiculous urge to run right out the door.

There was a strange noise from the ventilator behind her, and R suddenly stirred, his hand squeezing hers hard. Brow tightening in pain, his head twisted on the pillow as his mouth started to work, and his chest rose and fell rapidly, fighting the steady rhythm of the machine.

"Dammit," muttered Stephen, and he left his chair, quickly moving to R's bedside.

"What's wrong?" Julie whispered through a dry mouth, the panic from Stephen's questioning spilling over to worry about R.

Stephen placed his hand on the top of R's head, gently, comfortingly. "Rowan, it's okay," he said with a heavy sigh. "I'm just asking Julie some questions, that's all. I'm no threat to her, son. I never will be."

Julie stared at Stephen, struck by the emotion she could hear in his voice, then watched as R slowly relaxed, his body sagging back on the bed, the knot at his brow easing. His fingers tightened around her own, as if to say  _I'm here_ , and then slowly loosened to sleep.

Stephen shook his head with a small smile as he pulled away from R.

"You two amaze me," he said. "He shouldn't be able to wake up from that, and he's done that twice now, for you."

Julie sighed, remembering when R had caught her as she'd fallen back from his bed months ago. She'd never meant to cause him so much pain then, and it seemed she'd just done so again.  _R, I'm so sorry...  
_

"Julie." Stephen faced her, and the dread returned in a horrible rush. "Am I right about the bite?"

At his words, her face crumpled, betraying her guilt, and she nodded as she started to cry again, her body shaking with deep sobs she couldn't hold back.

Gently squeezing her shoulder, Stephen stayed by her quietly until she stopped, and she mangled another tissue mopping up.

"What happened?" he asked simply.

She stared at the foot of the bed, not willing to meet his gaze. "There was a boney... it was doing something to my head..." Confused, visiting the memories in detail for the first time, she reached up, expecting to find a jagged gash from the shovel. But there was nothing. "Some asshole hit me with a shovel, here, but..."

Shaking her head, not understanding what had happened to the wound, she dove deeper into her memories. "The boney turned me. I think I remember a bite? And the cold. But... I don't remember dying. But I do remember being a corpse."

"Wait," Stephen said quickly, "You were infected?"

Nodding, she looked down at her hands, curled in her lap. "My hands were grey, like R's used to be." The feelings washed over her again and her voice grew thin, "It was so strange. I had no breath, no heartbeat. I was just.. cold and empty."

"But...  _how?_ " Stephen asked, and a desperate need in his voice made her look up. His eyes were intense. "It takes  _time_ to come back from that Julie, and you've been gone for what, less than a day? You're normal, I don't see a head wound, I didn't see a bite?"

His grip on her shoulder had grown so tight it was painful. Julie winced and shrugged away, and Stephen quickly withdrew his hand.

"Sorry, sorry. I'm just..." He paused and took a deep breath, collecting himself. "This is really important to me Julie, I need to know how you turned back."

She stared at him and shrugged, "I don't know... I just did. I saw R-"

Stephen's questions spilled over her in a rush, "Did you recognize him? Did he pull you back somehow, like you did for him at the hospital? Was it the connection?"

Julie shook her head. "No, I didn't know him." She frowned, remembering that moment. Remembering the scent of life pouring from him, of blood and damage, but no recognition. Only curiosity, and an overwhelming  _need_. Steeped in the memory, she looked down at him in the hospital bed, fearful he would feel like a stranger again, but he was just... her R, and she squeezed his hand gently.

"Okay, you saw him, you didn't know him, what happened next?" Stephen prompted, pulling her back from her thoughts.

Julie sighed, her face falling as she looked down at R's arm, at the stained bandage.

"I... bit him."

Stephen nodded and gestured for more information. "Okay, then what? What made you stop eating? He's got a fractured skull, was that you?"

Julie frowned, staring at Stephen, his questions stinging. "No, I didn't do that..."

"The boney?"

She frowned again, remembering the thing that had pulled her off of R and thrown her against the wall... the same thing that had been holding him up by the throat when she came to... But that hadn't looked like any boney she'd ever seen before... it was something huge, gaunt and nightmarish...

And it spoke... Her eyes widened as she realized she'd heard that voice before. At the hospital, the thing that had spoken through R... it had come up out of him...

_Holy crap._

That thing had come out of the smaller boney. The smallest boney she'd ever seen... the size of a young...

"Oh shit!" she said suddenly, looking past Stephen.

"What?"

"The boney... it's the girl...  _was_ the girl," she finally looked at him, "The girl with my jacket... Jesus, she was the boney who bit me!"

Stephen frowned, clearly incredulous. "What?!"

"Oh my god!" Julie cried, her mind racing, furiously making connections, remembering R's story of the bear and the young girl, "It's  _her!_  She has to be the girl he killed!"

"Julie," Stephen spluttered, "what in the holy hell are you talking about?!"

"R..." Julie turned to Rowan, reaching out and tenderly brushing his bruised cheek, "My god... you brought her back R... you  _saved_ her..."

"Julie, there's no way that girl was a boney," Stephen said impatiently, "There's just no coming back from that. We've tried. Skeletons are too violent for rehabilitation. The test subjects always attacked, no matter what methods we used, and the ones we didn't destroy just wasted away."

Julie turned to look at Stephen, shocked.  _Test subjects?_ The phrase made her gut churn. She'd known about tests being done on the dead, but she didn't know he was involved... she'd never seen Stephen in that light before.

It made her distinctly uncomfortable.

"Julie, please," he insisted, "what else do you remember? How did you turn back?"

Julie looked down at R. Biting him had turned her back. Had the boney bitten him?

Then she saw it.

"These marks," she whispered, pointing to the arc of wounds over his shoulder, under the sling, "that's where the boney bit him."

Stephen shook his head. "That's ridiculous Julie, that's too big for a skeleton's bite. Particularly a child's."

She stared back at the doctor, annoyed at the smirk on his face. "Stephen, I was there, you weren't. Remember when R turned again, months ago in the hospital? Remember I said it was like something came out of him? That's what happened at the house. Something came out of the girl, something  _huge_ and dark, and  _that's_ its bite."

The smirk fell. "That's insane."

"It was horrifying," she said softly, looking down at the wounds. "When I bit R, I think the thing wanted me to turn him, but he didn't turn.  _I_ did. I turned back." She shook her head in wonder, then shrugged. "As crazy as it sounds, that's what happened. And I guess it happened to the girl too..."

Stephen was very quiet, and when she finally turned to look up at him, to understand why, he was focused on R. Gone was the warmth he usually exuded, replaced with that strange intensity she'd glimpsed before. Something distant and coldly thoughtful.

After a long pause, he spoke again, not looking at her. "I believe you Julie." He glanced at her then, and smiled, and the warmth returned, putting her at ease. "Thank you for sharing that with me. I know it wasn't easy."

Julie released a heavy breath. "No, it wasn't. I just..." she shook her head and looked down at her hands again, "It was horrible."

Stephen nodded, and gave her a gentle pat on the back. "You should try to get some more sleep. Rowan's going to be okay."

Julie nodded, giving him a small smile. "Thanks Stephen." Her eyes drifted to the side table and the covered plate. "I think I might try that apple now."

Stephen grinned. "Good."

He left her bedside then, and she grabbed the apple and finally, after a deep breath, bit into it. Echoes of that terrible moment with R surfaced briefly then faded away as she ate, enjoying the crisply sweet fruit. She sat, munching her apple and watching R, listening as Stephen worked in the far corner of the room, picking through shelves of supplies.

God, she was really hungry. The apple went quickly, followed by both protein bars, and when she'd finally finished she let out the loudest, longest burp she'd ever made in her life.

"Oh my god... sorry!" she cried, covering her mouth in embarrassment with a little laugh. Behind her Stephen chuckled, and she saw the slightest pull at the corner of R's mouth, the hint of a smile.

"Ha! He heard me!" Grinning, she squeezed his hand a little, and felt the slightest bit of pressure back. "Heey, there you are... I'm here Rowan, I'm here."

Slowly, his eyes opened. She could see he was fighting the sedation, his eyes were glazed and unfocused, but gradually his head turned and he found her. A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth again.

He tried to speak around the tube, but Julie shook her head, "No, it's okay, don't try and talk. I've got you." Smiling, she squeezed his hands again, then she bent and kissed him gently on the forehead.

When she pulled back, Stephen was there, injecting something into R's IV line.

"What are you doing?" she asked, confused.

R's eyelids drooped as he looked at her, frowning, and slowly he fell away, his eyes closing as his face went slack.

"R?!" she cried, squeezing his hand again, but getting nothing in return. She looked up at Stephen, anger twisting her brow. "What'd you do?!"

"I need him under Julie, I'm sorry," Stephen answered quietly, and walked away again.

"Why?!" she yelled after him, angry and frustrated, "He was okay! He wasn't feeling any pain, he was there..." Her voice trailed off as she stared back down at Rowan's still face. He was completely beyond her now.

With a sigh, she sank back down onto to her own bed, turning her head to watch over him again, wishing, aching to see him smile one more time.

There was a sudden sharp pain on the inside of her elbow, and Julie instinctively tried to jerk away from it, only to find her arm held fast. Stephen was standing beside her, pulling something from her arm, and pressing firmly over her skin with his thumb.

"What the hell?!" she yelled, and tried to pull her arm free, but he held on, keeping the pressure over the injection site. She would have lashed out at him, pushed him away, but her other hand was bound in R's and she had nowhere to go.

"Julie, relax," he said softly, and finally released her arm, stepping away to another tray. "It's just something to help you sleep."

A heaviness crept through her limbs, and Julie started to panic, her breath coming in short gasps as she realized Stephen had just sedated her, without her consent. The heaviness spread to her chest, the muscles of her neck, and tugged at her mind, and she sagged back against the bed with a moan. Her head rolled to the side, and as her eyelids fluttered, she saw Stephen, working on her arm again, sliding another needle under her skin, securing it with tape.

"N-no," she whispered, trying to move, but no longer feeling her body. She swallowed thickly, and as her eyes slid shut, she heard Stephen's voice from very far away.

"It's okay, Julie, everything's fine."

There was a sensation of movement, but not of what or where.

"I'm not going to hurt you, or Rowan."

She heard Stephen one last time, his words stirring a whisper of fear as the darkness engulfed her.

"I just need to run a few tests..."

* * *

_My reaction as I was writing this chapter: Yay! They're okay! Everything's going to be fine! Just got to tie up a couple of loose ends and... and..._

_What the heck? Why's Stephen acting so weird? Stephen, what the hell are you doing?! STEPHEN!? Dude! Oh fer cripes... now look what you've done!_

_It makes sense in the end... well, you'll see. But this was an unexpected twist for me, and leads to some pretty big events down the line._


	35. The Real Cure

Julie was never going to forgive him.

Stephen knew this as he watched her go under, and he gently straightened her head on the bed, stroking her hair comfortingly.

"I have to do this Julie, I'm sorry. It's important." He sighed. "And I knew you wouldn't understand."

His hands were trembling as he drew three blood samples from Julie's arm, inverting each repeatedly to mix the coagulants with the blood inside before setting them aside on the nearby tray.

If what Julie said was a true account, this was huge. This was what he'd been waiting for. He'd been fascinated by Rowan's lack of infection from the bite on his arm from the start, and had planned to explore it further, but Julie's story suggested something far more incredible.

A  _real_ cure.

Yes, they'd had a 'cure' for the dead, a plan, a process to bring them back to life, but it was lengthy, frustratingly subjective, and required heavy surgical intervention in many cases to ensure the survival of the rehabilitated.

It also wasn't a cure for the infection itself, for the disease process that had caused this plague in the first place. It was true that there were fewer cases of infection seen now, as most of the corpses seem to have lost their 'bite', for lack of a better phrase, but he'd tested the fluid produced by the few remaining skeletons he'd been able to find and the substance was still heavily virulent.

The disease was still out there. There was still a chance it could adapt, change, and rear up in a new form, to devastate and reclaim this ground they seemed to have won. The corpse they'd found at the house was a prime example. Aggressively hostile, unlike almost every other corpse they'd recovered, outside of the skeletons. The disease  _had_ to be adapting, gearing up for another possible epidemic.

It bothered him. Deeply. He'd been working on his own tests, constantly trying to isolate whatever it was Rowan and Julie introduced in a cellular form, and had failed repeatedly. After Rowan had beaten the infection for the second time, Stephen had taken blood samples and tested them against infectious samples, feeling certain that the boy had built up an immunity, or at least a resistance. The infection had merely run over Rowan's blood, in effect 'turning' it, as it did any introduced sample. There was no physiological solution he could find as to why Rowan was alive. It came back to the the only explanation they had.

Love.

And while it was wonderful that love had brought Rowan, and so many more dead, back to the world of the living, and he could appreciate the poetry in that, it wasn't really an answer, it was a fairytale. He needed to find the material, physical thing, the specific collection of compounds that targeted the nullifying yet animating processes of the disease, destroyed them, and stirred electric life back into dead cells.

What Julie had just described was something completely different from Rowan's previous transformation. Love hadn't brought her back, she'd not recognized Rowan at all. There had been no connection to speak of.

There was only the blood. And apparently, it had reversed the advanced disease process in a skeleton.

This was his answer. Something had happened in Rowan, some last exposure to the disease that had given him a true immunity to it.

A cure. Transmissible, repeatable.

Stephen moved in between Julie and Rowan, through the gap he'd made between their beds as she'd fallen under sedation. Their hands were still bound, suspended over the empty space, and he'd checked to make sure they'd stay secure. It was another unbelievable thing, that their contact was keeping Rowan alive, had brought him back from death. But Stephen had seen it in action, he believed in it, and wasn't about to risk separation at this stage.

Particularly for what he was going to do next.

Stephen lifted the dark vial from his pocket, one of four samples he'd taken from the corpse they'd brought in earlier, and stared at the black fluid within, thick and virulently infectious. The substance was strange, composed of compromised blood, lymph, saliva, decomposing tissue, and in a corpse, filled every space within the hosts body. It was the vehicle for infection, and, he hypothesized, the substance that actually provided animation, but he'd never been able to isolate how it worked.

He stared down at Rowan.

He needed proof.

Theoretically, he could inject a few ccs of this into the boy now, and get that proof, but he'd be no closer to understanding the mechanism of the resistance, and there was a chance that Julie's recollection was faulty, and Rowan would turn.

He couldn't risk that.  _Wouldn't_ risk that. There were much safer ways to conduct the tests he required, but for them, he needed Rowan's blood.

The young man had already suffered massive blood loss. Even with the blood transfusion he'd received, it was incredibly unwise to draw blood of any volume over the standard admission draw he'd already done.

But he was going to, because he knew Rowan's blood held the answer.

It would be safer to wait a few days of course, take samples after Rowan had a chance to replenish the supply. But the boy's immune response was at its peak now, and Stephen wanted to take full advantage of that.

So he'd be careful, and he would count on the safety net of Julie's proximity, however unscientific that sounded.

Stephen pocketed the vial of corpse fluid, and took a needle and hub from the tray nearby. After securing the tourniquet above the boy's elbow and the bite wound, he located a suitable vein, and slid the needle in. Pulling away the tourniquet, he snapped in a large collection tube, and waited.

Blood dribbled slowly into the vial, and Stephen frowned, his forehead breaking out in a sweat. He'd hit the vein without error, it should be filling quickly. Not good.

Finally, it reached capacity and he quickly switched in another, wincing as it filled even more slowly.

_Christ._

"Come on Rowan," he mumbled, staring down at the vial, still only half full, "I need this. It's important."

A soft sound caught his attention, and he looked up to see Colonel Grigio closing the door quietly behind himself as he stepped into the room.

_Oh for God's sake._

"Colonel," Stephen said shortly, staring back down at the vial. Three quarters full. "Can I help you?"

"I was hoping to catch my daughter awake. I guess I missed my chance."

"Yes, I'm sorry."

The vial was finally full, and he pulled it free, sliding it into his pocket with the other, slowly spinning them to mix the contents as he turned to face the Colonel.

John had walked to the end of Julie's bed, and was staring down at his daughter, his eyes tight with worry. "How is she?"

Stephen glanced down at her. Julie lay still, softly breathing, and the pain and sadness that had etched deep creases across her eyes and brow had eased. She looked relaxed and peaceful. She was going to hate him when she woke up, but he couldn't help thinking he'd done some good.

"She's fine. I gave her a little something to help her sleep. She was having nightmares."

The Colonel nodded, "I'm not surprised." Shaking his head, he gripped the bars at the foot of the bed, leaning over and looking down at the floor before straightening again. "I've never seen anything like it before. Not even in a corpse hive. We're still trying to make sense of it. And we're still uncovering bodies." He nodded towards his daughter, "Was she able to tell you what happened?"

Stephen sighed. Telling John everything Julie had said would both keep him here, and betray Julie's confidence, and Stephen had no intention of doing either.

"I think we'll have to wait until she wakes," he answered vaguely.

John nodded again, and glanced over at Rowan. "How is he?"

Stephen turned back to Rowan, as his hand rolled the blood vials in his pocket. He'd lined up a number of empties on the tray nearby, and he itched to start them, but didn't feel comfortable doing so in Grigio's presence.

Rowan's face was still swollen and bruised, but the cuts had been cleaned and dressed beautifully. His color was horrible however, and his skin was cooler than it should be, sending little alarms off in Stephen's mind.

"Critical, but relatively stable," he finally answered. "The stability owing more to Julie's presence than anything we've done, and don't ask me to explain that, I can't."

The Colonel smirked, "I've seen it happen, I don't think it's explainable. And I don't care," he said with a sigh, heading back to the door. "I just want them both to get better." He stopped before exiting, "That young girl say anything else? Any hint about what she was doing up there?"

"No."

"Hopefully she'll start talking soon. Get me on the comm as soon as Julie wakes, or there's a change in the boy's condition. His father's waiting in the lobby."

"Of course," Stephen answered with a nod as the Colonel left.

_What an overbearing pain in the ass._

He turned back to Rowan, and stared down at the boy, lost in thought. He'd taken two vials so far, and wanted at least three more, but this was a very fine line he was walking, and it made him distinctly uncomfortable.

_This is important._

His eyes flicked up to the monitor, which was already flashing an alert for low blood pressure. The only reason it wasn't audibly alarming is because Stephen had muted it, knowing Rowan was stable in a physical condition that was anything but normal.

A part of him, the scientist who had dissected corpses in what would have been vivisection save for the fact that the subjects were considered dead, was urging him to move forward, extract the blood he needed and gain some valuable data on Rowan's ability to handle stressors in a compromised state while connected to Julie.

That part of him felt Rowan had handled two very well so far, and could handle at least two further draws without issue. But another part was a doctor, disturbed that he would push the boy when he was so ill. Yet another part had been a father. One who had lost his son to this disease many years ago, and felt driven to an answer because of it.

And that was driving him now.

Stephen pulled an empty tube from his pocket, rolling it back and forth in his fingers as he watched Rowan. He glanced down at the boy's hand, bound to Julie's, and checked their connection again, holding their hands together himself before patting Julie's gently.

Then he plugged in the vial. The blood spurted strongly at first, and he grew excited and relieved. He was going to get the samples he needed, and Rowan would be fine.

Then the flow slowed dramatically, stemming to a thin trickle, before it stopped altogether. The vial was a only quarter full.

"Shit," Stephen muttered.

The tube he'd used had been too large and the vacuum had collapsed the already exhausted vein.

He needed another site.

Carefully, he withdrew the needle, pressing firmly over the area for a few minutes as he watched the boy. The other arm had a line in already, which he couldn't draw from out of concern for contamination.

After securing a bandage on the boy's arm, Stephen reached over and gently turned Rowan's head to the far side, adjusting the ventilator arm to accommodate, and looked for the external jugular vein. It lay, prominent and wide, just under the skin.

_Perfect._

Stephen sterilized the site, prepared the equipment, and slowly tilted the bed down as a standard precaution. The needle slid in true, there was a promising amount of flash, and he drew a large bore cannula over and into the vein, removing the needle. After covering the site with a clear bandage, he took a deep breath and plugged in a new tube.

The tube filled with blood in moments, and Stephen grinned.

"Thank you Rowan, this is perfect. Just a couple more."

At the start of the fourth tube, the monitor began to alarm audibly, and Stephen quickly muted it again, then reached over the boy's still body and opened the flow on the blood feed and the saline IV, casting a quick glance back at Julie and Rowan's bound hands to make sure nothing had slipped.

"One more son, that's it."

As the last tube filled, Rowan jerked suddenly on the bed.

Stephen froze, watching him carefully, but when it didn't repeat, he slowly relaxed, thinking it was just a one-off, something possibly dream related.

Then Rowan's body jerked again, and this time didn't stop. The monitor alarmed, bypassing the mute, alerting to another drastic drop in blood pressure as the boy's body shook uncontrollably.

Stephen swore, leaning over Rowan again, opening the fluid in both lines up to their maximum flow. The boy was convulsing. And it was his goddamn fault.

Racing to the fridge against the far wall, he gathered more blood, then a new line and medications to counteract the life-threatening hypotension. In minutes he'd set up a new blood feed into the jugular line, and injected the vasopressors.

He brushed his hand against Rowan's brow, trying to stabilize the boy's head against the tremors, and took a quick temperature read. Cold. Way too cold.

"Come on you two," he whispered, clasping their hands together again as he watched the monitor, "Work your magic."

Did Julie need to be awake? Had he made a serious misjudgement here?

At last the shaking subsided. Rowan trembled once more, then fell still, save for the mechanical rise and fall of his chest. The monitor showed his pressure rising in steady stages until the alarm fell mute again. Still low, stupidly low, but no worse than it had been.

_Not what I should be shooting for._

Stephen let out a shaky breath, and bent over the bed rail for a moment.

This had been incredibly reckless of him. Driven by the need to find his answer, he'd jeopardized the boy's life. He stared down at the vials on the tray. Dear lord, he'd taken way too many. No wonder things had gotten out of hand.

Stephen rubbed his hand through his wiry beard and stared down at the boy for a moment, then gently straightened Rowan's body on the bed, checking and re-securing his IV's, catheter, ventilator and ensuring his hand was secured in Julie's.

Then he returned to the fridge and pulled out the remaining samples he'd taken from the corpse they'd brought in. Adding them to the tray, he brought the entire collection over to the 'lab' - a corner of ICU filled with more scavenged equipment arranged in a cramped workspace. After dropping a few vials into the centrifuge to separate the white blood cells, he set to preparing slides of blood samples from both Rowan and Julie.

"Hello?"

Stephen looked up from his work, momentarily startled. A man in a heavy canvas jacket, who he immediately recognized as Rowan's father, was standing just inside the door. The man had apparently not seen him.

"Yes Mark?" Stephen asked, and Mark turned towards him.

"Is it okay if I sit with my son?" he asked, gesturing to Rowan, "Got tired of waiting in the lobby."

Stephen sighed. He had the right to force the guy to leave. But he couldn't bring himself to do so. He had the samples he wanted, and the man deserved to see his son.

"Sure," he finally answered, then settled in behind the microscope. He glanced up before placing the slide and saw Mark standing, looking lost, at Rowan's side. The man's eyes were fixated on the ventilator assembly, drawn in worry.

With another sigh, Stephen stood and slowly walked over, pulling a chair with him.

"Here you go," he said, dropping the chair behind Mark, then he nodded to the ventilator. "He'll need to be on that thing for a few days. His lung was pretty badly damaged, and while we've secured the flail ribs, he's not yet breathing effectively on his own."

Mark nodded slowly, his face haggard. "Is he going to be okay?" he asked hoarsely. Clearly the man was shocked to see his son in this way.

Stephen forgot that sometimes. Granted, they didn't tend to have that many ICU patients, but he'd admitted and cared for enough that the machines, the wires, the tubes were just tools he needed to do his job. To someone who wasn't used to them, it must look terrifying.

"Yes, I believe he is," he said, and smiled. "Rowan's incredibly strong. And, his connection to Julie makes him stronger. Literally in this case."

Guilt flickered briefly through him as he spoke, having endangering the boy's life only minutes before, but he squashed it.

Mark nodded again, and managed a small smile. "Yeah. Not sure how it works, but... thanks for keeping them together."

Stephen looked down at Rowan, "Sure." He didn't add that it would be extremely risky to separate them at this stage. Rowan's injuries were dire. Life threatening on their own, taken together they'd be fatal in most, as they had been briefly in this case. Separation was not an option.

Mark rested his hand on his son's head, gently drawing his thumb over the boy's brow.

"Hey... I'm here Ro... Dad's here," Mark said softly, releasing a sigh.

_I need to give this man some space._

Stephen gave Mark a quick squeeze on the shoulder, and pointed to the lab.

"I'll be over there if you need me. Feel free to sit a while."

"Thanks Stephen," Mark said, nodding up at him with eyes rimmed red with worry.

With a growing sense of excitement, Stephen returned to the lab and settled behind the microscope again. He prepared new slides, and slowly drew corpse fluid into a pipette.

Peering down the eyepiece, he magnified a sample of Rowan's blood. The sample had a high proportion of leukocytes, the white blood cells that fight infection, which was a good sign. He'd have plenty to work with from the centrifuge samples.

"Moment of truth," he mumbled, and released a drop of the corpse fluid onto Rowan's blood sample.

The effect was immediate. The corpse fluid aggressively engulfed Rowan's blood, tearing through the walls of his cells, killing and rebuilding each cell into an agent of the disease.

"Goddammit!" Stephen yelled, slamming his fist against the table.

It was the same goddamn result as last time! Standard disease replication, resulting in the complete turning of the host. How the holy hell was the kid not a walking corpse? He looked up, frustrated and angry, and caught Mark staring his way. "Sorry," he muttered, then reached for the slide under the scope, ready to throw it in the contaminated bin.

Stephen froze.

The fluid on the slide was still red. Not black.

"What the..." Peering through the eyepieces Stephen saw something that turned his mouth dry. Blood. Uncontaminated, human blood. Granted, there were some extraneous cells not usually found in the plasma, but it was all human.

With a trembling breath, Stephen repeated the experiment, watching through the eyepieces as the cells of the new slide were again engulfed and destroyed, rebuilt.

And then it happened. The engulfing cells started changing from the inside out, blooms of color appearing in their centers and spreading outward as they differentiated into red blood cells, leukocytes, plasma, and more.

Until none of the corpse cells remained.

"Holy shit!" Stephen cried, his heart hammering, "Hol-ey Christ!"

"Everything okay?" Mark called from the other side of the room.

Stephen looked up, grinning like a madman, "Sorry, yes. Everything is amazing. Just amazing."

He finally had it. Granted, he'd never seen that immune response before, and the prospect of narrowing down the specific markers and antibodies involved and reproducing them was a little daunting, but he finally had it.

The answer.

He needed to test this on a larger scale.

Drawing up a sample of Rowan's blood into a second pipette, he took the entire vial of corpse fluid and holding his breath, dropped in the complete sample. The few drops of red were swallowed hungrily by the black, and for a moment, nothing happened. Then the entire vial bloomed in a vivid burst of color, the red swirling through the shrinking mass of black until all but red remained.

"HA!" The laugh burst out of him without restraint, and he kissed the vial of now normal human blood. "Fuck yes!"

Mark was staring at him from across the room. "Should I leave?" he asked uncertainly.

"No, no, no. Sorry about the language, I've just had a bit of a breakthrough." He smiled at Mark. "Thanks to your son actually."

Mark looked taken aback. "Yeah?"

"Yes," Stephen answered, and left it at that, returning to his microscope. He still had some tests he wanted to run, and still needed to wrap his brain around the physiological processes involved.

"Okay..." Mark said quietly, apparently expecting more, but Stephen only half heard him, lost again in the possibilities of his discovery.

He needed a control sample, from someone who had never been exposed to the infection or the cure. Stephen looked up at Mark. The man had returned to staring at his son, his head propped in his hands as he leaned towards the bed.

"Mark?"

"Yeah?"

"Would you be willing to provide a blood sample?"

Mark raised an eyebrow, then shrugged, "Sure, if you think it'd help. If my son needs a transfusion, take as much as you need."

Stephen smiled, "Just a vial or two will do."

Two fresh vials later, Stephen returned to the microscope, prepped a new slide with Mark's blood and introduced a drop of infectious fluid.

Mark's blood was obliterated and converted. The standard, expected outcome. Stephen looked up at him thoughtfully. The man was talking in low tones to his son, rubbing Rowan's shoulder gently, comfortingly. As Stephen watched the man quickly wiped his hand across his eyes, and Stephen's heart went out to him.

It was a terrible thing for a father to see his son so sick.

Stephen released a big sigh. He'd had to watch his own son succumb to infection, just as Mark had. Only, unlike Rowan, David hadn't come back. He'd turned eventually, and he had died gently, thanks to a small incision Stephen made through the base of his skull. Holding the scalpel steady had been the hardest thing he'd ever done in his life.

Crushed again by the memory, Stephen looked down the microscope, blinking quickly through the beginning of tears, and watched the slide intently as he introduced a drop of Rowan's blood to Mark's contaminated sample. Rowan's blood was devoured, and Mark's infected blood cured. Stephen then added another drop of corpse fluid. Mark's inoculated blood was seemingly overwhelmed, then stabilized. Stephen steepled his fingers, pressing against his beard as he leaned forward on his elbows and looked over the microscope at Mark.

_Inoculation..._

If he injected Mark with a 'cured' sample of his own blood, would the cells pass on the defensive markers necessary to repel the infection? Or would the blood have unexpected side effects? Stephen tried it on the slide, introducing a drop of Mark's normal blood to the newly cured blood. The treated blood engulfed the normal blood, and exactly as the corpse fluid would, broke the cells down and rebuilt them.

"Oh shit," he whispered.

 _What the fuck just happened?_  Was the cure a disease in itself? The cured blood had basically 'turned' the non-cured blood, consuming the cells and remaking them.

It was like being rewritten.

Stephen looked up at Julie, lying motionless in the bed next to Rowan. She'd said she'd been hit in the head, and bitten. He'd found no such marks on her. The girl who'd apparently been a skeleton had no visible wounds, and her hair was like a newborn's.

_...like a newborn's..._

"Holy  _Christ_."

He stood up suddenly, pushing his chair back, and started to pace back and forth around the cramped lab, running his fingers through his hair. Was it some kind of DNA protein retrieval and cell re-synthesis? Whatever was happening, this wasn't a question of antibodies anymore. It had become much more complicated.

He needed to see this in action. It's effect on the entire host, both a completely compromised subject, such as the corpse in lockdown, and an unexposed control individual.

Stephen's gaze fell to Mark.

Mark was looking his way, having watched him as he paced. His eyes were pinched and tired. "How's that breakthrough going?"

Stephen picked up the spare vial of Mark's blood.

"Promisingly..."

* * *

 _My reaction while writing this chapter: Oh, well he's not being_ completely _insane... phew. Not doing anything too bad... okay. Taking some blood... taking too much... stop it you idiot! And hey, he stopped, and everything's okay, and dear god man, you get excited over science don't you. And stop looking at Mark like that... and... dammit Stephen, don't you dare! *facepalm* You're totally going to dare, aren't you.  
_

_Hopefully folks were able to get through this chapter without falling asleep. Lots of talk about cells and leukocytes and plasma n' stuff. Stephen was more of a research scientist than a physician when the apocalypse hit, and continued intense research on a cure in a government facility, before everything truly went to hell. I go over that a little in my previous fanfic, so his motivations here aren't too far out of left field. Still bothered me though, because he's a good man, and my favorite character outside of R & Julie._


	36. The Guinea Pig

Mark was exhausted. It was only about eight, but he hadn't slept the night before, and the shock from this morning and the long wait through surgery, waiting for word on his son's condition, had wrecked him. Then he'd had to wait in the goddamn lobby again and eventually realized they weren't coming to let him in.

So he pushed past the nurses' station and came in anyway.

And he'd been wrecked again, by the sight of his son, pale and bandaged, stuck with a breathing tube down his throat, utterly still in the hospital bed.

Horrifying. At least he'd had that contact with his son, before he'd passed out again, had that feeling that he was going to be okay. But it was hard to feel that assurance here, in this room, with the hiss of the ventilator, and absolutely no response from his son.

He still didn't understand what had happened to him. He'd seen the bite on his boy's arm, he'd seen the blood spurting from his son's mouth as they worked to revive him. That had been terrifying. And he'd seen the cuts, the bruises, the broken nose that he'd recognized immediately - someone had beaten his son up. Severely.

If he had known who'd done it, if he'd seen them at the house, and been able to get near them, he'd have killed them on the spot. But nobody knew what had happened. Nobody knew who was responsible for any of his injuries. The doctor had come out of surgery to tell him the extent of Rowan's wounds, which were shocking, and his prognosis, but nothing more.

Mark had met Stephen before, the day he'd been reunited with his son, and knew how much the doctor had helped Rowan as he'd come back to life. He'd been grateful, and immediately appreciative of the man's warmth and good humor.

He hadn't realized he was so odd though. The guy had been swearing, yelling and laughing in the corner since he'd been here. Apparently over some kind of breakthrough, he'd learned that much, but about what, he had no idea. The guy wasn't exactly sharing.

But he'd been happy to give blood, to whatever cause might help his son. He'd bleed himself dry if it made any difference. Stephen had been whispering and swearing in the corner since taking two vials from him, and was now pacing back and forth, clearly agitated.

Mark didn't really want to talk, but he felt obligated to at least engage the guy, particularly when he looked up and caught the doctor staring at him.

"How's that breakthrough going?" he asked. God, his eyes felt scratchy.

Stephen picked up one of the vials from the desk he'd been working at, and was looking at him thoughtfully.

"Promisingly," the doctor answered. Then he turned away and sat down at his desk again.

 _Well, that's just great._  Yet another obtuse response. Mr. Enigmatic was doing wonders for his sense of humor. Mark turned back to his son, reaching out again to brush against Rowan's swollen cheek. God, if he would just... open those eyes again, that'd be alright.

It'd be wonderful.

"Rowan... can you hear me?" he asked softly, staring at his son's closed eyes, the sockets darkly bruised and swollen. His boy's hair was hanging in a shaggy mess over his brow, as per usual, and Mark brushed it out of the way, but Rowan didn't stir.

"Actually Mark," Stephen spoke up from the back of the room, "looks like I could use one more sample, if you've got a moment."

Mark sighed. Giving more blood wasn't going to do much for his energy level, but he wanted to help. "Sure." Leaving his jacket on the chair, he got up and walked over.

Stephen pulled a chair over and gestured for him to take it. Mark sat down heavily, and rested his arm on the desk. As Stephen prepared the injection site with alcohol and readied the needle, Mark's gaze wandered over the doctor's desk. The light from the microscope was shining over a bunch of slides and more vials, most filled with what was obviously blood, but there was one filled with a black substance Mark recognized immediately.

"Is that corpse blood?" he asked, gesturing towards the vial.

_What the hell was this guy doing?_

Stephen nodded, sliding the needle under Mark's skin.

He winced. Needles were not his favorite thing in the world.

"Just doing a little flush first..." the doctor said, and pressed down on the plunger, injecting the contents of the syringe, which Mark hadn't had a good look at, into the vein.

Mark frowned. "Okay..."  _Whatever floats your boat doc._ Although, it was a little disconcerting seeing the corpse blood so close where needles were involved.

"Ow," he said, as Stephen pulled the needle free.

The spot was really starting to burn.

"What's wrong?" the doctor asked, and held Mark's wrist, fingers pressed lightly over his pulse.

"I.. Jesus, that hurts," Mark grunted, grasping the site with his other hand. His whole arm felt like it was on fire now.

Stephen looked surprised, but didn't release his wrist, and wasn't preparing a vial for more blood. The doctor was just... watching.

"Really? What's it feel like?"

Mark hissed in sharp pain as the fire spread from his arm across his chest, and his heart started thundering against his ribs. In dawning shock, he looked up at Stephen, clenching his teeth against the burning agony spreading down his legs and across to his other arm.

"W-what... did... you," he managed, before violent tremors took his ability to speak, and he fell off the chair, crashing to the floor.

"Let me get you something for the pain," Stephen said quietly, his face drawn in concern, "I'm sorry Mark, I had no idea it would be this bad."

Mark could barely hear him, as blood rushed in violent waves through his body, deafening him, and the tremors worsened, until his whole body arched off the floor. Something was pressed into his mouth as his eyes rolled up, and he felt another pinprick against his burning skin before his mind stopped making sense of everything completely.

The tremors slowly eased, and Mark's body relaxed as he stared, unseeing, towards the ceiling. Something was removed from his mouth, his arm was held, then released, then something soft wedged behind his head.

"Dammit... Mark? Can you hear me?"

Mark blinked, and swallowed against a dry, thick throat.

"Thank god," Stephen said somewhere nearby, and a bloom of light obliterated the vision in his left eye. Then his right. "Looks like you're coming back. Blink again if you can hear me."

Mark struggled to focus on the doctor's face far above him.

"Ass..hole..."

"Or, call me an asshole," Stephen sighed, "that's fine too."

Mark swallowed again, and Stephen propped his head up, offering him a drink with a straw.

"You poison... this too?" Mark mumbled as he took a small sip. It was beautifully cool against his throat.

"I didn't poison you Mark," Stephen said calmly. "Here, let's get you sitting up." He closed his hand around Mark's, about to pull, but Mark snatched his arm away.

"Don't touch me... I can get up... myself..."

"Okay." The doctor backed away and watched, crossing his arms.

Mark stared up at the ceiling again, taking a few deep breaths, judging his ability to move, then finally pulled himself up until he was sitting. The room wobbled briefly as dizziness washed through him, then quickly faded.

He felt okay. In fact, he felt pretty good. The exhaustion was gone, replaced with a strange buzzing feeling.

"What the  _fuck_ did you do to me?!" he suddenly snapped, glaring at Stephen. "I felt like I was on fire... that fucking hurt!"

"I'm sorry about that, I wasn't certain of its side effects, otherwise I would have given you a painkiller first." Stephen glanced to the side thoughtfully, "Of course, that wouldn't have done anything for the seizure..."

"You gave me a goddamn seizure?!" Mark yelled, stunned, "Why the fu-"

"Mark," Stephen interrupted, "calm down, please. Let me show you what I gave you. Here..." He pulled another syringe from the desk, plunged it into the vial of corpse blood, drawing up half of it, then turned back towards him.

_Oh Christ!_

Mark was on his feet in an instant, staggering as the room swam again, and backed away from Stephen, holding his arm out to defend himself.

"Get the fuck away from me!" he yelled, and turned towards the door. "Somebody help!"

Stephen rushed forward, catching Mark's arm, "I realize this is unusual, but I've already tested your blood, and if you'd just trust me, I-"

"Trust you?! You just gave me a - shit,  _STOP!_ " Mark had tried to wrestle free, but his body was still unsteady and strange, and Stephen quickly plunged the needle into his arm, delivering the entire sample.

Mark stared up at Stephen in shock, as the doctor released him and stepped away, a big smile on his face.

"You..." Mark whispered, horror engulfing him. "You  _infected_ me..." In despair, his eyes sought his son, lying in the bed nearby, and his throat started to close up. He had to get away from here, he was going to turn and hurt somebody...

"No, Mark, I didn't," Stephen said quickly, excitedly, "I'd inoculated you with the previous shot, you can't get infected."

Mark looked back at Stephen, at the wide, delighted grin on the doctor's face.

"What?" he whispered, his voice betraying his disbelief.

"It's true," Stephen replied, nodding encouragingly, "Check the site, are you cold or numb? Do you see any greying or veining of the skin? You would have felt and seen a trace of that by now."

In stunned silence, Mark looked down at himself, at his arm. The skin around the injection site was reddish and tender, but otherwise healthily pink. It wasn't numb, or cold, and as he waited, sure that Stephen was insane or playing a really cruel trick, absolutely nothing happened.

"See?" Stephen said, then let out a bright laugh.

Mark stared up at him in wonder, "Holy crap..."

"You're immune!" Stephen cried, still laughing, and engulfed him in a huge hug.

Mark just stared over the doctor's shoulder in shock, as the reality of what Stephen was saying finally sank in.

"I'm immune!?"

"Yeah!" Stephen pulled back, with tears welling in his eyes, his face beaming, "How about that!"

Mark stared at him with a strained smile, as he gave a short uncertain laugh.

"I'm immune!"

Then he reared back, and swung his fist with every ounce of wobbly strength he had, catching the doctor square on the jaw.

Stephen spun in place and dropped to the floor without a single sound.


	37. The Calm Before

When R's eyes opened, he wasn't quite sure who he was. Or where he was. He lay, his eyes softly blinking up at the ceiling, wandering through lazily drifting thoughts, trying to figure that out.

It was frustrating, knowing there was an answer beyond the feeble flickering of his consciousness, but being unable to reach it.

His mind felt slippery, as if something had been loosened that wasn't meant to be, and he was left holding threads that didn't go anywhere.

But he felt wonderfully relaxed. Comfortable. Peaceful. That was nice.

"Oh my gosh, he's awake!"

A female voice, urgent, excited, came from somewhere in front of him, washing over him like a warm wave.

Then a face appeared. A beautiful face, long wavy blonde hair framing blue eyes that were somehow worried and delighted at the same time. His eyes traveled over her rosy skin, her full lips, stretched back in an uncertain smile, and he felt his mouth echo it, even as he tried hard to bring a name up from the murky mess of his mind.

Those ocean blue eyes dipped to his mouth and back again and her smile grew, until he was basking in a blazing display of love and joy, that he couldn't help but reflect, even as he wondered whose face that was.

"Still not all there, are you?" the beautiful girl said, and he wondered how she could know him so well.

"Let me help," she said softly, her mouth pulling into a grin, as her warm hands cupped the sides of his face.

Then she drew in and kissed him, and as their lips touched, his mind found its anchor and the threads weaved into a cohesive whole.

He was Rowan, and this was Julie, the girl he loved above everything else.

Their mouths pressed eagerly together, searching, seeking, tasting, and he pushed himself up and wrapped his arms around her body, holding her as close as he could, feeling her skin like fire against his own.

Slowly, their kiss softened, and gently, he drew from her, grinning as their foreheads touched.

"Hi," he said, his voice a dry whisper, his eyes locked on hers, only inches away.

Julie grinned back. "Hey..."

Someone cleared their throat behind them.

Rowan shifted his head, peering around Julie's as she turned as well.

It was the Colonel, giving him a cool smile, standing in what looked like attention at the end of the bed. The man nodded. "Good to see you awake. You had us worried for a long while."

Rowan frowned, finally absorbing where he was. The hospital. He was sitting on a bed, surrounded by monitors and machines. An IV line led to the back of his left hand, the fingers bandaged. The other arm, the one with the bite, was bandaged as well. There was something in his neck too, and something taped to his thigh?

In fact, something felt really weird down there, something he'd noticed as he'd sat up, and curious, he lifted the sheet a little.

"Um, yeah..." Julie started to say, "They... uh..."

"Jesus!" Rowan cried, staring down at the tube coming from a place tubes should never come. "What the  _hell?!_  That's not...! Why?! Can someone get this out?!"

"I can," came a familiar voice from the doorway.

Rowan looked up. Nora was walking into the room, dressed in a colorful nurse's shift and carrying a tray of food. A sly grin crossed her face as she set the tray down next to him with a wink, and his skin flushed bright red.

"Nora," Julie sighed.

"What? I'm a nurse! It's completely legit!"

Rowan just looked between the two girls, his face burning, then looked up at the Colonel.

John just shrugged, but his smile got a little wider.

Nora laughed. "Relax R, I'll get someone else. Although... it's nothing I haven't seen before."

"Nora!" Julie yelped.

Her friend laughed and then gave R a warm smile. "Seriously though, it's really good to see you up."

"Thanks..." R said quietly, shifting uncomfortably in the bed, suddenly very aware of the damn tube. Then it struck him. He didn't feel any pain. A little weak, sure, and there were a couple of aches, in his side and shoulder, but otherwise... He gazed down at himself again, and was stunned to find that the bruises that had peppered his side were gone. New scars, still a little angry and raw, had joined the old ones over his chest.

He looked back up at Julie, his mouth falling open. "How long was I out?"

"Too long," she said quietly, and squeezed his hand.

"Almost three weeks," Nora answered, pouring a glass of water. "We had you on a feeding tube and everything. Some folks thought it was Stephen's fault."

Julie's face darkened at the mention of the doctor's name.

"But Dan thinks your mind just wanted a bit of downtime to let your body heal," Nora continued. "You were in pretty bad shape."

Rowan blinked.  _Three weeks?! Holy shit!_

Utterly astounded, he looked at Julie, and his heart fell as he saw lines of worry on her face that he'd missed before.

"Julie..." he whispered, reaching out to trace them away, "I'm sorry... I... wow..."

"Yeah," she said quietly, looking down and leaning into his hand, "that wasn't fun..."

Then his mind backtracked to something Nora had said and he looked up at her, confused. "Wait... Stephen's fault? What?"

Julie's face darkened even more, and R was surprised and confused, to see her so angry at a man who'd been so good to them both. And she was livid, he could see that as clear as day. A fragment of a memory came to him then. The jittery feel of Julie's panic, reaching him through a fog of medication and pain, and the struggle to wake. To help. Stephen's voice had reached him, the doctor's words cutting through his fear, assuring him everything was okay.

From the look on Julie's face, things were not okay.

"Did he hurt you?" he asked, feeling a sudden surging dread.

She shook her head, "No, not like that. He just-"

"Stephen's in custody, Rowan," John said firmly, talking over his daughter, "He's under house arrest pending a trial. Your condition was weighing heavily on his conviction, so I expect he's going to be relieved."

"Oh, that's great," Julie snapped, her voice bitter, "so happy for him!"

Rowan looked at the Colonel, then Julie, and back again, completely confused. "Can someone just tell me what happened?!" he snapped, his voice rising, "House arrest? What the hell?!"

Nora winced, "Ah..."

"That asshole put  _me_ under," Julie answered sharply, glaring daggers at her father before looking back at Rowan, "then he almost killed you..."

Rowan blinked, "What?"

Julie wasn't finished, and talked over him, "Then he stabbed your dad with a syringe full of corpse blood!"

"WHAT?!" Rowan shouted, his heart jumping in his chest in a panic.

"After making him immune to the infection, Julie," John said calmly, "which some might suggest was a hell of an achievement."

"But he didn't KNOW it would work!" Julie yelled back, "He didn't even TELL-"

"Wait wait wait," Rowan said quickly, sensing Julie's imminent explosion, and desperately needing to understand what he'd just heard, "My dad's... immune? He... he can't get infected?"

The Colonel nodded. "Exactly. Thanks to you, and Stephen. And while his methods certainly needed some work, he-"

Julie's eyes bulged in disbelief, "NEEDED some WORK!?"

"I'll come back later," Nora whispered, and headed towards the door.

Rowan sat on the bed staring at the far wall as Julie exploded at her dad, who remained calm for a moment more before yelling back. He didn't really hear any of it, his mind circling instead over what the Colonel had just said.

His dad was never going to get infected. Ever. Somehow, Stephen had found a way to immunize his father against the disease, and if he managed it for his dad... then that had to mean he could do it for others.

For everybody.

Which meant... they'd won.

A smile started to spread on his face as he sat there, as Julie and her dad kept arguing. It turned into one of the widest grins he'd ever grinned in his life, and he suddenly felt like laughing.

_We won._

"Your boyfriend gets it," Rowan suddenly heard the Colonel say, and he looked up to find John nodding his way with a smile.

Julie turned then, her eyes angry, and shifted away from him on the bed, "So you think it's okay, what he did?!"

Rowan shook his head, "No, of course not... though I'm still shaky on the details..."

"Then why are you grinning like a goofball?" she squeaked, but he could see the beginnings of a smile playing at her own mouth, as she was caught up in his.

"Because it means we won, Julie," he said softly, staring into her eyes. "We beat it."

"We beat it," she parroted flatly, her eyes still pinched with hurt. Then slowly, as he watched, the words seemed to reach her, and the anger and pain she'd been carrying fell away.

"Oh..." she whispered as her eyes softened, her voice filling with awe, "I guess... I just... I was so angry at him, I didn't see it like that." A beautiful smile spread across her face like a slow sunrise. "Wow..."

"Yeah," he answered, and then he did laugh, the sound bubbling up from a wild joy he felt inside. It wouldn't be able to touch them anymore - the disease, the curse, whatever it had been, wherever it had come from. It couldn't touch them, and everyone could start  _living_ again.

For real this time.

"Rowan, I'd like to debrief you as soon as you're up for it," John said, leaning on the metal frame of the bed, "We've got some huge gaps when it comes to understanding the situation at the house, and we're hoping you can fill us in."

Rowan nodded, still smiling, his eyes still fixed on Julie's. "Sure..."

"Sooner rather than later," John added, "it's important we..."

R leaned forward, catching Julie in a kiss.

"...get..." Her dad sighed. "Oh, for heaven's sake..."

The Colonel's words faded as R and Julie leaned into each other, their lips meeting around smiles and laughter. As Rowan circled her in his arms, falling against the bed, Julie landed on him giggling. The last time he'd done that, the fall had been longer, the landing much harder.

"Hey," he said, reaching to curl a strand of her hair over her ear.

"Hi," she answered, smiling down at him. Then her eyes grew vulnerable. "I thought I'd lost you R... thank you for coming back."

Rowan tilted his head against the mattress, staring up at her. "Thanks for bringing me back," he said quietly, then looked down. "I..." Suddenly, he didn't know how to say what he wanted to say. As crazy as it all seemed, he remembered everything, the strange in between times with his mom, and wanted to share, but didn't want to sound... odd. "I... would have been lost without you."

Julie's eyes were searching his own, as if she could see his thoughts, see his reservations, and he smiled up at her. Really, it was dumb to be so worried. If there was anybody he could talk to about this stuff it was Julie.

"It was hard... seeing you so upset," he said finally, leaving things vague.

"Well," Julie sighed, "it was hard watching you die."

Rowan smirked up at her, "How many times is that now? Three?"

"Just two. I'm done with it though okay? You don't get to do that to me again. Ever."

His eyebrows arched, "I have to be immortal now, huh?"

Julie nodded with a giggle, "Yeah, you do." Smiling, she moved to his side, lying stretched out next to him, with her hand against his chest.

Rowan looked down, finally seeing the rest of the room. The Colonel had left them alone. "Guess your dad gave up on us."

Julie shrugged, then propped herself up on her elbow. "You know he arrested me?"

R gave her a lopsided stare, "What?! When?!"

"When we came back... guess it wasn't really an arrest, just an armed escort..." she smirked, "We'd just come back from looking for you," she said, her smile falling, "and I wanted to go back out again. Dad had other ideas."

Rowan reached out to brush her cheek, "I know you didn't want to stop looking Julie, but my dad made the right call. You were half frozen."

Julie nodded, "I know. I just..."

R smirked, lost in the memory of that moment, "Yelling at you was rough though. He was just really upset."

"Wait...  _your_ dad?" Julie frowned, "R... how'd you know about that? Did your dad tell you?"

_Oops._

"Um..."

She pulled her head back, still frowning, confused. "When did you have time to talk to your dad?"

Rowan met her gaze, "I... didn't?"

"I don't understand..."

R blew out a heavy sigh and looked up at the ceiling for a moment. This was it. He was going to have to tell her. He didn't know why it was so hard. They'd talked about stuff like this before, and he knew she had a pretty open mind.

"I was there," he said quietly. "In the car with you, outside the plane, before you and dad headed back to the city."

Julie stared at him, baffled. When she finally spoke the sound rode a strangled laugh, "What?"

"I was in the car, but you couldn't see me. I think... I think I was a..." Jesus, he couldn't say it. It sounded so stupid.

"A what?"

Rowan gave her a sheepish look. "A... ghost?"

He was more than a little surprised when Julie burst out laughing.

"A ghost?!" she said, giggling, "But R... you don't believe in ghosts!"

"Hey," he said with a smirk, "I didn't believe in zombies years ago, look how that turned out."

"Are you really serious?" Julie asked, then shook her head, "No... wait, how'd you hear about it? Maybe your dad told you about it when you were out?"

"Nope," Rowan said softly, and smiled at her. "You were sitting in the car, waiting for my dad to come out of the plane. It was snowing like crazy and your teeth were chattering. When he came out without me, you were upset. You'd hoped I was in there."

The smile fell from Julie's face.

"Then you wanted to go back to the park, but dad wouldn't. You tried to grab the steering wheel and that's when he yelled at you." Rowan let out a heavy sigh. "You kept blaming yourself. But it was never your fault Julie." Reaching out, he brushed a tear falling down her cheek. "It wasn't your failure."

"Oh my god," she choked, "R..."

"It was mine," he said quietly, frowning. "I never meant to say that stuff to you... I was just upset, angry... about  _me_. Everything I'd done was just... ganging up on me. Too many terrible things. I wasn't thinking straight when I went out into the storm."

He looked away at nothing in particular. God, he'd been so lost.

"I got too cold... I fell into the snow, things got quiet." He released another heavy sigh. "I saw mom. I saw my body under the snow..."

"Oh R..." Julie's eyes were wet, and she wiped her hand by her nose, brushing back tears.

"And I saw you, and dad. I tried to touch you, but..." he shrugged then, looking up with a smirk. "I thought you saw me at one point, but you were just looking through me. You  _knew_ I was at the park though, I could feel that."

She nodded, still crying.

"And you thought you were going to find me, no matter what." He grinned with the memory, remembering her unshakable belief, her absolute certainty, and he stared at her, amazed. "And you did Julie."

"Jesus, R... you really were there," she whispered, awestruck, tears falling freely down her face.

"Yeah, I really was. It's kind of blowing my mind." His grin grew wide again, and he shook his head. "Totally screws up the whole atheist thing I had going too. Mom thought that was hilarious."

Julie gave a little astounded laugh, then stared at him in awe. "That's... amazing. And wonderful... and I don't know what to say." Then she frowned. "You know, you mentioned your mom, just before you... at the house... when you..."

R nodded, "Yeah, she was there too." His eyes fell. "That was horrible... I hated seeing you so upset. You asked me to breathe... and I couldn't... I wasn't...  _in..._  me anymore." He pressed his head back against his pillow. "Jesus, I sound crazy."

Julie smiled softly and shook her head. "No you don't. It's amazing. It's like a gift... seeing your mom again? Wish I could do that." She looked down at her hand curled lightly against his chest. "I used to feel her around. But I never saw her, never heard her. Then I stopped feeling her one day, and that was it."

R stared at her for a moment, hearing the sadness in her voice, and hugged her close. "Well, I never felt mom, but apparently she was always near. I'm sure your mom is too."

"Yeah. I guess." She didn't look convinced.

"And I don't recommend dying as a way to hook up with moms. It sucks."

Julie smirked, "Okay." She propped herself up on her elbow again. "What did you see? Like, a tunnel? A light? Heaven?" Her expression was playful, but there was something very hopeful and a little needful behind her eyes.

R shrugged. "No tunnel, no light. Just mom and... home."

"You went home?"

"I guess so? It was like home when mom was alive... just better than I remember." The memory made him smile.

"Oh." Julie nodded quietly, staring at nothing.

R looked at her.

"Something's bugging you."

Julie shrugged.

"I get to tease you about shrugging, right? 'Cause... you're shrugging." When she only managed a slight smile to that, he frowned. "What's wrong?"

"I didn't see anything," she said, her voice quiet.

R looked at her, confused. "When? You mean when I died?"

Julie shook her head, looking back at him. Her eyes were pained. "No R, when  _I_ died."

The words hit him like a slap in the face, draining all the humor out of him, leaving a terrible hole in his gut. "Jesus..."

The horrible moment when she'd turned to him, corpse grey, played in his head, swamping him with the same sense of utter despair. "Oh fuck," he groaned, squeezing his eyes desperately against it.

"Rowan? Hey... no, don't..." He felt her hand against his cheek, "I'm okay now..."

"I'm so sorry," he choked, drawing his hand over his eyes. "You never should've gone through that Julie... never... goddammit... that was my fault."

"No it wasn't..."

"Yes it was. If I hadn't wandered off like a brain dead fucking moron..."

Julie sighed. "If I hadn't left you in the plane..."

Rowan withdrew his hand, "If I hadn't driven you away..."

Julie rolled her eyes. "If you hadn't been a zombie in the first place Rowan, Jesus." She smirked. "You're right, it's all your fault."

The corners of Rowan's mouth lifted in a smile, despite himself, and he let out a heavy breath. "I'm sorry."

"I know," she said. "Me too."

"How much do you remember?" he asked softly, grasping her hand against his chest.

Julie blew a strand of hair from her eyes. "All of it. Well... I don't remember dying. Just cold and darkness. Just  _being_ , not breathing, no movement... god that was so weird. I was so still."

R studied her face, remembering the grey, the deathly emptiness there, the need. It was strange, knowing Julie had been through it too. And it hurt, knowing it had happened because of him. That he couldn't protect her from it. He nodded slowly and looked down at their hands.

She followed his gaze. "I remember smelling you. Seeing you. Not knowing you." A soft sigh left her. "And biting you." Her eyes drifted to his bandaged forearm.

R's eyes fell there too.

Julie reached out, hesitating for a moment before starting to peel up a corner of the bandage.

R tried to pull away. "Don't Julie... you don't need to see that."

Julie squeezed his hand, holding him there. "I have to sometime R. Please?"

Rowan watched her for a moment, then relaxed, letting her pull the rest of the bandage away.

"Huh," he said quietly, looking down at the suture lines crossing his forearm like confused railroad tracks. The stitches had been removed, but the scars were still red and puckered. It looked pretty horrible, and as he turned it sideways, the skin noticeably dipped under the wound.

Julie made a small sound, and he turned his head to look at her, then quickly swept her up in his arms. The look on her face had been devastating - shock, horror and shame etching deep lines around her eyes and mouth as tears spilled down her cheeks.

A terrible sob broke from her then, and he held her, as close as he could, cradling the back of her head as he pressed against her trembling brow.

"Not your fault," he whispered, over and over, until her sobs slowly turned to sighs.

Eventually she grew quiet, her breaths deepening, becoming soft and easy, and shifting only slightly, he pulled away to look at her. She was nestled against him, the creases gone from her closed, damp eyes, her mouth gently open.

Asleep.

R watched her for a long moment, drawing a stray strand of hair back from her forehead with his finger. Her mouth closed slightly, then slowly eased open again, and he smiled.

God, she must have been exhausted. Julie was never the one to fall asleep on him. He'd always gone first, usually after they made love, which he always found a little embarrassing. He'd always wake before her though, and loved to watch the subtle movements of her eyes, her mouth as she dreamed.

Rowan frowned. Her experience at the house was haunting her, and he wished he could take her pain away. But if he'd never done that for himself, how could he do it for Julie?

Just then someone came through the door into the ICU. A male nurse he didn't know, wearing glasses, carrying a little bundle of medical supplies.

It took R a minute to figure out what the man was doing there, then he realized - it had to be to remove the catheter. Thinking about it brought that desperately uncomfortable awareness of the tube back and he winced. He'd give anything to get the thing out, but wouldn't wake Julie in a heartbeat.

The man finally looked up and seemed a little surprised to see two people in the bed instead of one. He slowed, frowning, as R started shaking his head.

"Bad time?" he whispered, cocking an eyebrow.

Rowan nodded, gently drawing his arm around Julie as she shifted slightly against him.

The nurse nodded back, placing his bundle on a side tray against the wall, before walking back to the door and out with a little wave.

Julie stirred again, making a soft sound as her head shifted on his arm.

"R?" Her voice came as a whisper, and he looked down to find her blinking up at him, her eyes puffy. "Did I fall asleep?"

He nodded and smiled. "Yeah. You can go back to sleep if you want."

She smirked and shook her head, rubbing her swollen eyes. "No. Not while you're awake. There's been too much of that." Her gaze fell again to his arm, and he pulled it away to his other side, turning it so she couldn't see.

Julie sighed. "It's okay, you don't have to protect me."

"Yes I do," he answered quietly. "Always."

She smiled, and reached over him, taking his hand in hers, drawing his arm up again. The wound glared angrily at them both.

"What a mess." She sighed. "God I'm sorry."

R twisted it in the light again, marveling at it a little. This was a true zombie bite. Not like his first clean nibble at the ankle. It was going to make an amazing scar.

Shrugging, he smiled at her. "It's impressive. I'm sort of proud of it."

Julie rolled her eyes with a smirk. "You are such a guy."

"Thanks."

She giggled then, and the sound made him happy, gave him hope that she was going to be able to let go of what had happened.

And he was going to do his best to do the same.

As her eyes held his, he felt himself drawn again into the soul behind the blue. Gently, his lips sought hers and engulfed them, softly wet and warm. She smiled against his mouth, her eyes dipping down as he tasted her, and returned the kiss, drawing it deeper. Their breaths rushed faster, and he roamed the warm skin of her back, marveling in the heat against his bandaged hands.

The urgency grew, and he needed her so desperately at that point he was almost breathless. One hand circled to the soft skin of her belly and rose to cup her, squeezing her gently, and she gasped against his mouth. His mind happily took a backseat as his body took over, rising to the occasion.

And he jumped about four feet in the air with a wild yelp.

"Shit!" he squeaked, sitting up and drawing his legs into his chest.

"What?! What happened?!" Julie asked, frantic as she shot up next to him, grasping his arm.

"Ah..." he started, his face going bright red, "The ah... that wasn't fun."

"Oh." Julie said, her eyes dropping briefly, then rising to his again.

Then she burst out laughing.

"Oh, sure," he said, smirking, "Funny."

Julie covered her mouth, "I'm sorry... it's just..." and lost it again.

The door opened and the nurse with glasses ducked his head in.

"Is now a bet-"

Rowan didn't even let him finish, as Julie's laughter filled the room.

"YES!"

* * *

_Back to R and Julie, as it should be. :) This was a very welcome peaceful moment for me to write for these two, and a very well deserved break for them both._

_I'm sure everything's smooth sailing from here on out. I mean, what could *possibly* go wrong now?_


	38. The Connection

Stephen was the happiest he'd been in years. Being under house arrest hadn't fazed him much, as they'd simply set him up in another annex of the clinic with all the equipment he needed for his research, and pressed him to continue.

And while the Colonel had been firm in letting him know he'd crossed a line, he'd also been extremely pleased with the results, after they'd quarantined Mark for a week and run some further tests on him.

Mark had been less than pleased about that. But he'd dealt with it, because he really didn't have much of a choice. Stephen wasn't sure if they'd thought he was going to turn, or something worse was going to happen, but they'd actually put him in restraints in a hospital bed and posted a guard nearby for the first few days. Of course nothing happened. Just the Colonel being overcautious again.

Any time Stephen passed by or drew more blood, Mark just lay there glaring at him, refusing to speak, the anger radiating off of him in waves. Stephen had felt quite a bit of regret over that, though not as much as with Julie, who still hadn't forgiven him and had quite a mean punch herself as it turned out.

Trying to explain why he'd done what he'd done had been useless as he'd known it would be, so he just took what she had to yell, nodding as he stood in front of her, until the guards finally pulled her away.

And then he was left to his research, and a certain delight he'd been missing. Facing a challenging problem, determining the best approach, the trial and error of exploration, the excitement of discovery. Sliding back into that role felt like recovering a piece of himself long lost. He'd done some experiments more recently on the skeletons, in rehabilitation attempts, but the work hadn't been nearly as involved, as engrossing as this. Stephen was overjoyed.

It'd taken almost three weeks now, but he'd finally narrowed down the protein sequence involved in triggering the defensive cell rebuilding. The key was of course to produce this synthetically, outside of the blood samples he'd taken from Rowan, and Mark, whose blood now exhibited the same qualities as his son's, after his impromptu inoculation.

They hadn't let him inoculate anyone else in the same manner just yet, even though Mark had been released from his quarantine with no further side effects. Apparently his description of the experience had been enough to convince them further work needed to be done, that it would be good if there was any way to lessen the seizures, and the feeling of being burned alive in a fiery hell.

"What do they say?" Stephen said out loud suddenly, looking up from his slide to the corpse of the young man strapped to the metal table nearby. "No pain no gain?" Shaking his head, he smirked at the gaunt figure. "What a stupid phrase."

The corpse's head lifted slowly, in jerky steps, dull grey eyes peering at Stephen through messy bangs of white. As the dark lips pulled from its grey teeth, it rasped, the sound thin and vaporous, before its head fell back against the table. The eyes remained fixed on him.

"Not a fan either?" Stephen said with a smirk, swiveling in his seat to face the corpse more directly. "I've always found it ridiculous, how about you?"

The dead man seemed to struggle to raise his head, releasing an almost soft sigh, then fell back again.

Stephen stared back at it thoughtfully. "You're winding down aren't you." Getting to his feet, he walked over to the table. The corpse just watched him, its mouth working silently. Stephen sighed. Without a source of food, all dead eventually just stopped, and this kid was getting close to that point. They'd held off simply injecting him with Rowan's blood because he wanted to test the synthetic cure on a fully dead corpse. "I'm sorry this has taken so long. I promise I'll have it soon."

Without really thinking about it, he reached out and patted the young man's cold grey hand. The touch seemed to stir what little energy the corpse had left, and the boy struggled again, rotten teeth clacking sharply together as he strained against the restraints, his pale eyes swiveling to track Stephen's hand as the doctor pulled it sharply back.

"I still don't understand why you're so different from the others," Stephen said in an exasperated voice, "Every other corpse I've encountered has been docile. Aware, at least to some degree. They have been since the big change. So why are you so aggressive? So very corpse like?"

Seemingly exhausted from its fruitless struggle, the man fell back again and gave a strangled, keening moan. His eyes tracked Stephen with unblinking intensity.

"Is it because you were turned after the change?" Stephen asked, not expecting the corpse to reply but intensely curious. "Julie recognized you, she said you were human that morning. I can't find a bite anywhere on you though. Just this," He pointed to the stab wound under the left side of the man's rib cage, oozing a thick dark fluid, then moved to a series of dark scars on his forearm. "And these. This seems to be where the infection started, but they look like knife wounds to me."

In fact, it looked like the young man had been cutting himself. Stephen had seen similar wounds on a teenage girl who'd lost both of her parents in a horrible attack last year. She'd opened up to him eventually, telling him it made her feel better, because it took the feelings away... at least for a little while.

He stared down at the corpse, frowning. What had the boy been feeling that was so bad he'd do this to himself?

The grey eyes tracked his every move. Stephen could sense the need in them. He'd heard what it was like to be dead, from the stream of corpses that had filtered through the hospital in the first stages of rehabilitation. It wasn't really hunger that drove them to do what they did, at least, not a hunger of the stomach. It was more a desperate, inescapable need to fill some kind of void inside, left from being hollowed out by the disease. Even that was hard to explain from a physiological standpoint.

Stephen shook his head at the corpse. "I can't feed you I'm afraid. You just have to hang in there a little longer."

Then he turned from the corpse and returned to his work.

It wasn't until two days later, three weeks since being arrested, that he finally had a positive result from his serum on the corpse fluid he'd drawn from the young man. It was slower to work than Rowan's blood, and it took much more of the solution to 'cure' the sample, but it worked, and that was what mattered. All that mattered.

Stephen had his cure. Sitting back with a satisfied sigh, he looked up at the corpse.

The boy had been very still. While sometimes not unusual for a corpse, it was worrying as Stephen moved, made a noise, talked to the young man, and walked up to him. Only his eyes moved now, and Stephen knew if he didn't start the cure today, that they'd lose him, irrevocably.

Gently, he grasped the boy's hand. At his touch, the grey eyes turned slowly towards him, and the boy's mouth opened, but he didn't make any sound or move.

"I'm here, son," Stephen said quietly, "Not long now."

Something happened then, something he had not expected. The boy's brow twitched inward, as the faintest flicker of confusion crossed there.

Stephen blinked, and stared at the boy. Emotion? Had he finally connected with the young man? He frowned thoughtfully, watching as the boy stilled again, fixing him with an endless stare.

Was it because he'd called him son?

 _Crap._  He'd been careless. The cure needed to be tested on a full corpse, not one in rehabilitation. He couldn't afford this. Obviously there had been too much contact between them.

Just as he was about to pull away, the corpse's cold fingers closed over his own and held on tight.

"Shit," Stephen said, quickly trying to extricate himself, but the corpse had him fast. "Let go."

The pale eyes fell to their hands, and that brief flicker of emotion returned, before the young man looked back up at him searchingly.

Stephen sighed.

"Son," he said quietly. "Please let go of me."

The cold fingers released him.

Stephen smiled. "Thank you."

Well, it was done now, he'd connected with the boy. They'd still test the serum on him of course, but they'd missed an excellent window of opportunity.

Reaching up, Stephen squeezed the young man's shoulder. "I know it's got to be strange for you son, but we'll-"

In one oddly fluid moment, the corpse struck out and bit him.

Stephen jerked back, stunned, and stared at the arc of black teeth marks over his thumb. The corpse had broken through the skin.

"Fuck!" he yelled, already feeling a strange numbing chill at the site. As he watched, thin black lines radiated from the wound, circling the finger, and a moment later he couldn't feel the digit at all.

 _Stupid, stupid idiot!_  He'd thought the kid was too far gone to do something like this, otherwise he never would have gone near the kid's head. Cursing non-stop, Stephen quickly moved to his makeshift lab, fumbling through his samples. The chill was spreading quickly through his hand, stealing sensation and making him clumsy. He could literally see the fingers turning grey as he watched.

"What the hell... not supposed to be this quick..." He needed to get the serum now, or he was going to be too far gone to help either of them. As the numbness claimed his hand and swiftly spread past his wrist, a wave of nausea hit him, flooding his mouth bitterly.

"Shit," he whispered, pressing his hand against his mouth to stop from vomiting. This was insane, he'd never seen infection spread this fast before, what the hell was going on? It was almost like the effect of Rowan's blood... but in reverse. The thought stirred another - could this man have been a factor in Rowan's immunity?

What the hell was he doing?!  _Stop hypothesizing, start moving!_  Shaking his head, he grabbed the only sample of serum he'd been able to generate. There was barely enough to fill a 3 cc syringe, certainly not the 10 ccs he'd determined they'd need for the cure to work.

The infection claimed his arm, and tendrils of ice wormed their way across his chest and up his neck. Nausea gripped him again, and he doubled over, his hand clenching the desk as he spat the horrible taste from his mouth.

Minutes. He had fucking MINUTES.

Rowan's blood, or Mark's blood, either would work, and he'd get a chance to test the effect post-infection but pre-turn. The problem was, he wasn't sure if he had time to get the samples from the fridge and prepare a syringe.

He had to get the guard's help, immediately. Stephen turned towards the door and was seized by sudden violent tremors that brought him to his knees. With a groan, he clenched his teeth against them, and struggled to rise on legs that were growing cold and clumsy. His chest muscles were freezing up, and it was harder now to draw a breath.

"help," he tried to yell, but the sound was strangled as icy fingers threaded around his throat and wormed their way up his scalp. Stephen's eyes widened. It had to be just seconds now, he needed to get to the door...

With a final agonized push he pulled himself up and stumbled to the doorway, falling hard against it. Looking out the small window he saw no-one. The guard wasn't there.

"Oh... god..." he whispered, then his legs were taken from him and he fell back, sliding down the doorframe to the floor. Another tremor rocked him violently, and he sagged back against the wall, staring at the corpse in the bed.

The young man was thrashing against his restraints, and Stephen idly wondered if the connection he'd started had given the corpse the energy it needed to free itself.

Stephen released a last hitched breath, and gave a last strangled gurgle, black fluid bubbling from his mouth, before his heart clenched in his frozen chest and grew still.

As the darkness rose up to meet him, Stephen greeted it with complete fascination.


	39. The Mistake

Peterson was starting to think the Colonel had it in for him. This was the fifth shitty fucking detail he'd had in a month. Babysitting their resident mad scientist. Before that it'd been oil changes for ALL of the vehicles in their holding lot, then an ammo count, another ammo count, oh, and before that, babysitting the guy's spoiled brat on a trip to the hospital.

And okay, so he'd convinced Gimmel to leave the hospital earlier than the Colonel had ordered. The girl was passed out in a bed, she wasn't going anywhere, what were they supposed to do? Stand there all night and listen to her snore?

The fact that she didn't stay in place wasn't his problem. They'd turned her over to the hospital. The staff should have kept her there, but they didn't, and that was their problem, not his. The shitty jobs just kept coming after that. The Colonel should have taken it out on the doctor who let her go, not him.

With a muttered curse, Peterson zipped up, shouldered his rifle again, and left the bathroom, nodding at the cute redhead in the hall as he made his way back to the annex.

How many more weeks was he going to have to do this? Until the guy went to trial? Who knew. Heck, his next job might be even more suck, perhaps he should enjoy this while it lasted.

It was just so damn  _boring_.

When he reached the door to the doctor's quarters and workroom, he cast a quick glance through the glass window, expecting to see the doctor over his microscope, and the strapped in corpse of the young kid.

His breath caught.

They were both gone.

"What the heck?!" he yelped, and went to open the door. He stopped for a moment, hand on the cool metal knob, thinking through the situation.

He should call for backup, that was the standard protocol in this situation.

But it was his fault again, for taking an unscheduled break. He was supposed to wait for his relief, but he'd been so desperate to move and stretch his legs a little, he'd decided a quick pit stop couldn't hurt.

He was going to fix this, before the Colonel ever got wind of it. Screw the protocol.

Taking a deep breath, and readying his rifle, Peterson pushed the door open and immediately saw the body of the doctor, slumped against the wall.

"Oh crap," he said, moving towards Stephen's still form. It wasn't until he put two fingers to the doctor's neck, feeling the cold flesh unmoving beneath his touch that he realized he'd made a terrible mistake.

His other hand fumbled for the comm on his vest, just as Stephen's head turned, and the doctor's teeth fastened on his wrist. Wolfish eyes, with too little white, swiveled to his own as the teeth bit deep.

"Oh FU-ghk!" Peterson's cry was cut short as the kid's corpse came out of nowhere behind him, and black jaws closed over the soldier's throat. With a terrible, wet slipping sound, the corpse tore out his trachea, and Peterson gurgled soundlessly, flailing in a wild panic as the kid bit into him again. A sudden gush of hot blood spattered the corpse as its face buried deeper in Peterson's neck, and the soldier started to spasm, even as the doctor fastened on his wrist ripped free and started to tear at his vest and coat.

Peterson fell, and his insides quickly became his outsides under the frenzied clawing of the corpses at his twitching form.

As death messily claimed him, he couldn't help but wonder - what had ever been wrong with boring?


	40. The Second Wave

Rowan's eyes snapped open.

He stared up at the ceiling of the dimly lit ICU, hearing the distant hum of some machine, a regular clicking sound he couldn't quite place and his own even breathing, and wondered why he was awake.

A sound, muffled and strange, came from outside the room. Propping himself up on his elbows, he stared at the door, unable to put a name to what he had heard.

Something felt... wrong.

A weird unease settled between his shoulder blades, and he held his breath, waiting for the sound to come again so he could identify it.

A thump, and a soft cry.

Rowan shot bolt upright in bed, his heart suddenly racing, and froze as he stared at the door.

There was a sharp high pitched sound, cut suddenly short, and it jangled his already exposed nerves. Immediately he was off the bed, and making for the door, but jerked back as the IV line tugged on the needle in his hand.

"Ow... shit," he whispered, and went back for the IV stand, pulling it with him as he moved to the door, his bare feet pressing quietly against cool tiles. The stand squeaked as it rolled along, and the sound made him nervous.

_Making too much noise..._

When he reached the door, he pressed against it for a moment, hesitating on the handle before slowly drawing it down and opening the door a crack.

The hallway was dark.

_What the hell?_

The soft sound came again, and his ears pricked up at the noise, a weird wet grunt - something was happening further down the hall, and there were other noises too, from the bigger treatment room across the hall.

But he couldn't see  _anything_.

Swallowing hard, Rowan moved down the hall, cursing every squeak from the IV stand. Part of him wanted to rip the damn thing out and run, but logic was clamping down, trying for reason. Something perfectly reasonable and normal was going on, right?

_Right?_

Someone groaned, and Rowan's skin prickled.

 _Wrong._ Something was terribly, horribly wrong, and he had barely enough light to see by.  _Shit_.

What could have happened? Where were the nurses? The doctor on duty? He heard another gasp, this time from behind, and he spun in place, noisily smacking the IV stand against the wall.

Then the smell hit him. Blood, piss and evacuated bowels. He knew that smell, though his senses weren't as nearly as sharp in that area as they had been for eight long years.

Death. Someone had died. Messily.

But this was a hospital. People died in hospitals all the time? Couldn't that be what that was?

Rowan glowered into the dark. Now he was just getting angry at himself. He knew exactly what was going on, he just didn't want to believe it. He'd been on the other side of this hundreds of times, the smells, the sounds...

A corpse. Maybe more than one.

Fear flooded his body and he broke out in a quick sweat, his eyes wide. How the hell was this happening? They had a cure, they had an inoculation, what happened to 'we won'?

This didn't feel like a win. He needed to get the hell out of here  _now_.

As his eyes slowly adjusted to the dark, he made out more shapes in the hallway, and through the open doorway into the large room. Shapes of beds, machines, curtains, the faint red glare of an exit sign leading out to the lobby at the far end of the hallway.

Something on the floor halfway down. Something moving.

Rowan's mouth went dry.

_Oh shit._

The shape made a sound, a gurgling sigh, the barest outline of a word.

"...h..elp..."

Rowan rushed forward without thinking, drawing the IV line taut again, and quickly knelt down by the shape, slowly making out the face of a woman. Her eyes were wide and glistening in pain, and dark blood pooled around her shoulders. She was dressed in what looked like doctor's garb though he couldn't see her lower half properly.

So much blood. Something was splashing in it further down - her hand? Something moving.

"...s-stop..." she gasped then, and her whole body shuddered. Only, she hadn't moved herself. She was being moved, in short... jerky... tearing...

_Oh fuck._

A grey face, smeared in blood, lifted from the bloody mess of the woman's lower body, tearing something away, and groaned.

Rowan's heart leapt wildly in his chest, and he fell back, falling hard on his backside as the corpse rose from the woman's body and rushed him, snarling. Frantically he pushed away with his feet, trying to get a purchase on the slick tiles, trying desperately to get some distance between himself and the bloodied thing in front of him, and crashed into the IV stand, sending it clattering to the ground. As the corpse suddenly dived for him, he grabbed the stand and swung it as hard as he could, catching the thing on the side of the head.

The corpse staggered to the side and fell against the wall, and Rowan didn't bother watching what happened next - he twisted in place, getting his feet under him, and ran back the way he'd come, still wielding the stand like a weapon.

 _Fuckfuckfuck!_  The corpse was between him and the exit now, what was he supposed to do? Go back and hammer the thing's head in? It'd kill whoever they'd been, there was no way he could do that!

Were there more? There had to be - he could hear other noises now, approaching from the large room, and the other end of the hall. Groans and needful sighs. He knew the language. They could smell him, hear him, and they were coming for him.

Had the whole hospital been overrun? How the hell had this happened?! What would happen if they got out?

_They'd be mowed down._

No. He couldn't let that happen.

Rowan stopped and looked back down the hall, towards the lobby exit. If he could somehow secure it so nothing could get out... if he could keep the military out... perhaps he could help these people himself, and nobody would have to die.

Well, at least... not twice.

As his hands clenched over the cool metal of the stand, Rowan stared hard back down the hallway, his eyes fixed on the still form of the corpse he'd knocked down. Had he hit them too hard?  _Shit._

Slowly, carefully, not wanting to make any more sound than he had to, he crept back towards the lobby, getting nearer to the prone corpse. It stayed deathly quiet, but something further down gasped now, and as he looked towards the red glow of the exit sign, the skin of his neck itched as his hair rose. The woman. She must have turned...

A cold hand clamped on his ankle, and with a jarring wrench, his leg was pulled out from under him.

Rowan fell with a cry, and a half second later felt the sharp agony of teeth closing hard on the thick muscle of his calf. Swamped by the terrifying memory of his first bite, Rowan kicked out wildly, ripping himself free of the corpse, then kept kicking, slamming his foot again and again into the things face as his voice rose in a hoarse cry of rage and fear.

His cry was suddenly muffled as icy fingers wrapped over his face and pulled, jerking him roughly upwards, then slamming him with shocking force against the wall.

Stunned, he slid sideways to the ground, blinking blankly up at the corpse bending over him - the woman, her face darkly grey now and twisted in need.

For a moment he just stared at the looming face, fascinated by the muscles twisting under her skin as her lips pulled back, realizing he should probably be moving now, but feeling no particular rush.

Then the fear snapped back into place, reconnecting his dazed mind with the reality of what she was about to do, and he thrust his arms out, barely holding her back as she snapped and shrieked above him.

Her fingernails raked against the skin of his face and neck as she fought him, and he screamed, drawing on every bit of strength he had to keep her away.

But it wasn't quite enough, and she slowly closed the distance between them, opening her jaws wide, her silver eyes fixed on his exposed throat.

This wasn't how it was supposed to go!

Out of nowhere, arms wrapped around the woman's chest and she was suddenly twisted away and off of him. Adrenaline still screaming through his body, Rowan pushed up, quickly getting to his feet, staggering back against the wall as he stared in disbelief at the figures struggling in the darkness before him.

What he saw didn't make any sense - the corpse that had bit him in the leg was fighting the dead woman?

Then, bizarrely, the corpse thrust an arm into the woman's mouth, pinning her against the wall. The woman groaned and bit deep, embracing the arm urgently.

"Oh Christ, that hurts..." came a very familiar, shaky voice, and Rowan realized it was coming from the figure being bitten.

He blinked, stunned. "Stephen?!"

"Yes," the doctor answered, his voice hoarse. "Quick, help me get her back to ICU."

Another gasp sounded in the hallway behind him, and Rowan spun around, catching figures moving in the large room off to his side.

"Help me Rowan, come on!" Stephen whispered forcefully, and pulled the woman back as she suddenly sagged in his arms.

Rowan jumped forward, grabbing the woman by the legs as Stephen quickly shuffled down the hall towards the ICU door. Beyond him Rowan could see more shapes moving in the darkness, grey against black, mouths dark pits, wide and hungry.

"Behind you!" he snapped, his voice rising. He'd been on the other side of this so many times, he'd forgotten how terrifying it was, how the fear took the thoughts right out of your head, pushed you to RUN just RUN.

"Here," Stephen said roughly, and backed through the door. The dim light from the room spilled over him, and the woman they were carrying. Blood was everywhere, and things growled in the darkness to his right, too close.

_Too CLOSE!_

Rowan pushed through, almost knocking Stephen over, and dropped the woman's legs as he fell back against the door, planting himself hard against it. Immediately the dead started to hammer against the wood, each blow rocking Rowan back a little further.

"Help me!" he yelled at Stephen, pushing himself back as hard as he could. Grey spidering hands scrabbled around the edge of the door, pushing it further ajar.

Stephen had his back turned to Rowan, and was staring down at the woman, inert on the floor, blood soaking her white coat through.

"STEPHEN!" Rowan roared, and the doctor seemed to finally snap out of it, quickly moving to the side of the room, sweeping supplies off the nearest shelving unit, and pushing it down, across the door as Rowan jumped back.

It held fast, and Rowan allowed himself a breath, tried to find his balance, push the wild fear down and out. He lifted a shaking hand to his head, to the tender lump the wall had given him, and noticed his hand was bleeding. It took a moment of staring to realize why - the IV needle was gone, ripped from the back of his hand.

Stephen's voice came to him then, pulling him back to the room, "Incredible..."

Rowan stared over at him, finally seeing him properly. The doctor's now flushed face was covered in blood, his beard flecked with gore, and blood drenched the front of his shirt and lab coat. His hands were red and trembling. His entire attention was on the woman lying on the floor in front of him, and Rowan's eyes followed his gaze.

He didn't recognize her, she must have been new at the hospital. Dark skin, no longer greyed and dead but warm with life, and she was breathing? Rowan's jaw fell open and he moved closer, ignoring the continual thumps against the ICU door.

The woman's lower abdomen, clothes shredded away from the exposed viscera, was  _healing_. As he watched, his mind stuttering over the sight, the skin seemed to spread back over the jagged wound, the cuts and gashes pulling together and meshing into smooth, unmarred skin. Only the blood remained. Buckets of it, now without a source.

"What the..." he whispered, not understanding what had just happened, and looked up at Stephen.

The doctor was smiling and nodding, still looking down. "Good. Good." Then he crouched over, and gathered the woman's hand in his own, holding it gently. "Tianna?"

The woman's brow crinkled and her head shifted slightly against the floor. Slowly her eyes fluttered open, and she stared up at the ceiling, frowning, before finally focusing on Stephen.

With a sharp cry, she jerked away from him, pulling her hand free and scrabbling madly backwards. She looked between Stephen and Rowan, her eyes wide and rimmed with white, before slowly focusing on her stomach, and the complete lack of any wound.

"I'm so sorry Tianna, I wasn't in control," Stephen whispered, the smile fading from his mouth.

"How..." she whispered, then swallowed quickly, staring back up at them both. "Was I?"

Stephen nodded at her, "Yes, we both were."

"Dear lord..." Her face paled, and she jumped as the dead hit the ICU door again. Then she turned back to Stephen. "Your cure?"

With a smirk Stephen shook his head. "Never got a chance to test it."

"You bit me..." Rowan said, trying to fill in the blanks, "and you turned back, just like Julie. Then she bit you..." he added, pointing at Tianna, "so you're... both immune now?"

The doctor grinned. "That's right. My blood's just as effective as yours now. So is Tianna's. Which is good, because we're going to need a lot of it to make it out of here."

The door shuddered. More dead outside, drawn by their scent. A vivid memory of that smell hit him suddenly and he pushed it down. Wasn't helpful.

"How many?" he asked, with a dry mouth.

Stephen frowned deeply. "I'm not sure who was on duty tonight, it used to be myself and two nurses, John and Bella, and I'm not sure how many patients were here."

"Six," Tianna said quietly, "and Bella was sick today, so Nora did a double shift."

Rowan's gut twisted, "Nora? Oh fuck..." He stared at the door, as if he could look through it at the dead beyond. "Did you see her? Is she okay?!"

"I don't think anybody in the hospital is okay son," Stephen said quietly. "But I don't remember attacking her."

Rowan looked at Tianna, who was just staring at nothing, her gaze on the floor. The door shuddered again, and this time the shelves shifted inward, scrapping noisily against the floor. Pale arms flailed along the wall, around the door, nails scratching deep gouges in the paint. One swept down against the switch on the wall, and the dimmed lights went out.

Darkness enveloped them.

Tianna screamed and started to panic, her breath coming in rapid gasps. "God... no... not again..."

"Tianna," Stephen spoke in the darkness, his voice steady and calm, "It's okay, I'm not going to let them hurt you."

The lights bloomed on again, then off again, the switch hit again and again by the frenzied scrabbling.

"We need to move quick," Rowan whispered, surprised at how calm he sounded. His heart was pounding. "Blood does it, right? What's the plan?"

When the lights flashed on again, Stephen was against the supply wall, pulling out sterile packages of syringes and vials. Darkness fell again, then light bloomed, and he was back, kneeling down by Tianna. She was trembling, hugging her legs to her chest and staring at the door. When he touched her she jerked back, twisted away.

"Don't touch me!" she screeched.

"Tianna," Stephen said softly, wearing what was probably meant to be a comforting smile, but to Rowan it was all teeth and blood, "I only need a couple of vials of blood, that's all."

"You don't get to touch me again!" she cried, her voice rising to manic levels, "Not after that! Get away from me!"

Stephen sat back slowly, hands raised, and they all jumped as the shelves scraped loudly again, the sound tearing through the flickering room, followed by the groans and gasps of the dead.

Rowan moved quickly to Stephen's side, exposing his inner arm. "Come on, take it from me, quick!"

Stephen nodded, and hands shaking, he set a tourniquet, prepared the needle and slid it into the vein.

Rowan winced. "Ow."

"Sorry." The doctor sighed, and plugged in a vial, releasing the tourniquet. "About all of this. About what I did to you before too. I've made a mess of things." He plugged in another vial and quickly readied another.

"Worry about that later maybe?" Rowan said, exasperated, "How many do we need?"

Stephen shrugged, "Don't know how many are out there. We need to fill as many needles as we can, unless you want to try pouring it down their throats."

Rowan looked towards the door, "Guess I could always go out there, let them bite me."

"Oh, that'd end well." Stephen said, his eyebrows arching. "You'd be torn apart. And there'd be no coming back."

Rowan stared at the doctor. For some reason, that reality hadn't hit him. There would be no return from the dead, no second chance. "Yeah." He grabbed a handful of syringes, ripped them free of their sterile sleeves and started drawing up the blood.

"Okay, that's enough from you." Stephen pulled the needle free and covered Rowan's inner elbow with gauze. "Tianna?" He stared over at the other doctor. She was trembling, staring towards the door, and didn't turn to him. "Tianna, I need your help!"

With a bang, the door hit the shelves again, just as the lights flickered again and one of the bulbs over their heads blew out, showering them with glass. Tianna screeched, and started shuffling away from them, towards the beds on the other side of the room. At the door, the corpse of a young man with curly hair and a nurses shift pushed his upper body into the room and started to claw at the shelves, trying to pull himself over.

"Jesus!" Rowan shouted, "Give it to me, I'll do it!" He snatched up the tourniquet, wrapping it quickly around Stephen's upper arm.

"But.."

Rowan took a vial from Stephen, and grabbed a fresh needle, scanning for a vein in the dimmed light, not sure of what to do next, but hoping his mom had been right.

_I just have to remember, someone in me has these memories, come on!_

As the groaning grew in volume and more dead started to crawl over the young nurse, something in Rowan's head just turned on. With a speed built of years of stolen practice, he twisted the needle onto a hub, removed the cap and inserted it in Stephen's vein in one clean motion. Snapping in a vial, he twisted the tourniquet off with one hand and grabbed a new one.

"Rowan?" Stephen asked, staring up at him as his jaw fell open, "How?"

"No time, fill syringes," Rowan said quietly, and took three more vials of Stephen's blood before pulling the needle out and securing the site.

They rushed to fill the last of the needles, just as the door shattered and the dead swarmed the room.

Stephen moved first, rising to meet a female corpse staggering towards them who must have been one of the patients. A keening, bubbling cry emerged from her ruined throat as she reached for him, and he thrust the needle into her arm and plunged it down, delivering the entire sample.

That was all Rowan had time to see, as the male nurse suddenly rushed him, knocking him to the ground and falling on top of him, his blackened jaws snapping the air inches from his face.

"Rowan!" Stephen cried out.

"I'm... okay!" he yelled back, keeping the corpse up with an arm across its throat as he plunged the syringe into the man's neck and depressed the plunger. The corpse started to claw at his face, its chilled fingers tearing at his mouth, his eyes. "No!" he yelled again, "I'm not!"

Then the corpse sagged, and fell on top of him, growing still. With a strangled cry, Rowan pushed it off, and scrambled back up, only to be caught in the back by another corpse, an older man with grey hair, grey eyes, who latched onto the meat of his shoulder and bit hard.

"OW!" Rowan cried, and twisted away, feeling the skin tear free with a horrible slipping sound. The corpse swallowed, and reached for him again, and Rowan swung out at it, catching the man in the face with his fist. Behind him, Stephen was wrestling with two corpses, a tall dark skinned man, and younger woman with long brown hair. Even from behind he recognized her.

_Nora._

The older man in front of him collapsed bonelessly to the ground, and Rowan readied another syringe, rushing forward to help Stephen.

Tianna screamed.

Rowan looked over, just as Stephen fell between the two corpses, and saw Tianna being dragged out from under a bed by the corpse of a soldier whose intestines dragged wetly behind him. Rowan ran to help, and quickly drove the syringe into the back of the man's neck, but the soldier lashed out, catching him across the chest and sending him flying.

There was a stunning impact with something hard and cold, and the world blinked out for a minute, before popping back in again, filled with screaming.

_Tianna..._

Groaning, he rolled to his side against the machine he'd hit, and looked over, trying to lift himself with limbs that felt leaden.

Tianna was screaming, her eyes wide and angry, spit flecking her mouth as she stood over the prone body of the soldier. In her arms she held a metal stool, and she was raising it over her head, ready to strike.

"No... stop," he moaned, and struggled to get up. "Tianna... don't!"

With a roar, she slammed the stool down, striking the man in the head with a sickeningly loud crack. Rowan finally got to his feet, and stumbled forward to catch her as she swung again. The stool went flying as he ran into her and they hit the ground hard.

She struggled against him, punching and kicking, her eyes wild, and he took a few blows before pinning her down. "Tianna! Stop!" he shouted into her manic face, but she was gone, disconnected and frantic.

Then she screamed, and his stomach twisted as he realized her eyes were no longer on him, but on something over his shoulder. Before he could turn, something grabbed him in the front of the neck, lifting him clear of Tianna, twisting him around.

What he saw stunned him, even as he thrashed in the thing's grip, trying to pull himself free.

Evan stood before him, holding him in one hand, his face grey, eyes shadowed and silver under a mess of white hair, black mouth twisted and bloodied.

 _Nonono..._  How was he here? How was this fucking asshole  _here?!_ He'd thought the guy would come back, but... how was he still dead?! How was he here?!

Fear flooded him, every blow he suffered at Evan's hands, the terror of being hung and almost gutted like an animal, all of it setting his nerves screaming, and he lashed out, kicking, punching with everything he had.

Through it all Evan stared at him, taking each blow without blinking, as his eyebrows lowered falteringly, pinching together in confusion.

"... y-ou..." he rasped, and the sound was hesitant, poorly formed, as if speaking were new to him.

Rowan stared back, stunned to stillness. Evan was talking? That meant the guy was changing back?! And he remembered him?  _Shit!_

Evan's grip suddenly tightened as he drew Rowan closer, and Rowan scrabbled desperately at the man's hand, trying to pry it free to draw a clear breath.

The man's pale eyes were intense and somehow terribly lost. "... know... y-ou?" he asked, twisting Rowan to the side, studying him, even as Rowan continued to fight, thrusting his hand out in a wild punch that glanced across the corpse's mouth.

As Rowan's knuckles came away bloody, he realized he'd been stupid, reacting to Evan as if he were still alive, still a human foe he could ward off with blows. Quickly, his face twisted in a snarl, he hit Evan in the mouth until blood dripped freely from his hand, and pushed it roughly against the man's face.

Evan batted the hand aside, and slammed Rowan's head down hard against the metal frame of the nearby bed, his face drawn in anger and something new - frustration. Dazed, head throbbing, Rowan stared up at him, his body growing heavy again.

Desperately, clumsily, he thrust his hand at the corpse's mouth again, trying to get Evan to bite him, trying to get the blood down his throat.

Slapping Rowan's hand aside, Evan growled, and brought him back up roughly. "know... you...h-how?!" His voice was growing in strength and volume, and he shook Rowan violently.

Rowan's eyes closed for a moment as the room lurched crazily around him, then he snapped back and stared Evan in the eye.

"Friend," Rowan whispered. He knew what the guy was going through, the mangled memories... perhaps he could use that? He kept his gaze steady, and tried to project as much of a friend vibe as he could, tried to reach the man inside the corpse has he'd reached out to Rachel, but knew it wasn't working. Rowan hated Evan with a passion. He broke contact and stared past the guy, looking for Stephen, for anyone who might be able to help, but Evan shook him back again.

"...no..." the man growled, and his dark lips twisted in a sneer. "...you... hurt... me."

 _Shit_. He had to do something here, this wasn't working! One more time, he pushed his bloodied hand at Evan's face. "Come on..." Evan wouldn't open his mouth, and stared at him impassively.

"You think.. I hurt you.. hurt me back!"

Evan frowned, his mouth twisting, then grabbed Rowan's arm, and  _wrenched_ it out sideways.

Rowan screamed, electric agony shooting through his shoulder and up his spine as his arm popped free of its socket, the muscles and tendons slipping and straining as Evan kept pulling.

_Oh god.. he's going to tear my arm off!_

"Son."

Evan froze.

Rowan squeezed his eyes shut against the pain, and realized Stephen was speaking. Why? Why didn't he just kill him?  _Jesus, just kill him!_

"Son, please, let him go."

Gasping as Evan suddenly released his throat and arm, Rowan fell back against the bed frame, then crumpled to the ground, crying out as he landed awkwardly on his shoulder. Tears squeezed from his eyes as he rolled back, trying to get clear of the corpse, and he saw Evan stare down at him for a moment, before turning to face Stephen.

The doctor was standing, hands out by his sides, radiating calm. "Thank you."

Rowan frowned. Stephen didn't have a syringe, didn't have a weapon, what was the guy thinking? Desperate to help, he struggled to get up, teeth clenched against the agony radiating from his arm.

"I...I...know... y-you..." Evan rasped, and took a step towards Stephen.

The doctor nodded, "Yes, you do. I was trying to help you."

Evan's voice deepened, and his head moved slightly, shaking. "...no... you.. trapped me.."

Rowan grunted against the pain as he managed to roll up against the bed frame. Evan's voice was changing, growing surer, stronger, and Rowan realized the man was changing even faster now. He had to help Stephen. Evan would tear the doctor apart.

"Son, I don't know if you noticed, but I was also trapped. They locked me in there with you."

Evan stopped, and his head tilted strangely. "...why?"

Stephen sighed. "I hurt people. On purpose."

The corpse didn't say anything for a long moment, and Rowan tried to stand, but stopped as he caught Stephen's eye. The doctor made a flicking motion with his hand, and very slightly shook his head, telling Rowan to stay put, then pointed at something on the floor, level with Evan's foot.

A syringe. One they'd used, now empty, but one Rowan could fill.

"I..." Evan whispered, and something trembled in his dead voice. "I think... I hurt... people."

Rowan froze, on the edge of reaching for the syringe, as something in Evan's voice pulled at him. At something deep inside. His own guilt and shame. Stephen was actually doing it, reaching Evan. Rowan hadn't been able to, because he couldn't get past his own hate. But Stephen had no idea what the guy was capable of, didn't understand what the bastard had done. They had to stop Evan, no matter what.

_...he was nice once..._

_Shut up!_

"Did you son?" Warmth radiated from Stephen as he spoke softly to the corpse, and he took a step forward.

Evan took a step back, but nodded slowly.

"Sometimes we do things because we think it's the right thing to do, don't we," Stephen said softly, and took another step. "At the time, it feels right."

Rowan's gut was twisting, warning bells going off in his head. Any minute, Evan was going to launch himself at Stephen, and Rowan wouldn't have enough time to get the syringe, fill it and inject it to save the doctor. He couldn't reach it anyway, without Evan noticing. He looked past them both, scanning the room for anyone else who could help. Tianna was under another bed, curled up, the old man was still out, the soldier was probably dead now. The male nurse was watching the corpse, as was the tall guy who'd attacked Stephen with Nora. And Nora... was looking at him. Her eyes were wide and filled with tears, her mouth smeared in blood, and as he watched, she pulled a syringe from her chest, staring at it in confusion before dropping it to the floor.

"You were trying to help your sister, weren't you Evan?"

Rowan's mouth fell open and he looked up at Stephen. How the fuck did he know that? How the hell did he know the guy's name?!

"...I... my name..."

"Is Evan, isn't it son?"

Evan took a step towards Stephen. "Yes... I was trying to help... help... Rachel?"

"Yes, Rachel," Stephen answered, nodding encouragingly, "that's ri-"

A deafening crash made everyone in the room jump, and the door exploded inward. Two soldiers with automatic rifles raised pushed into the room, the first immediately targeted Evan as the other scanned the room then grabbed his comm.

"Nine in here, one of them's a corpse, man down!"

 _Oh shit!_  Rowan dived for the syringe, his arm singing in pain, and everything went to chaos around him.

Stephen twisted around, roaring at the soldiers to get out as he backed up against Evan, trying to protect the corpse, even as Evan snarled and pushed forward. There were shots, like the cracks of a ruler on a table, and Rowan heard Stephen grunt.

_Oh god no!_

"STOP!" It was the Colonel, barking from the doorway, his own gun up and pointing at Evan, but he was screaming at his own man. "Stop firing! Lower that now!"

The soldier dropped his gun by degrees, uncertain, but apparently unwilling to draw the Colonel's wrath.

Stephen sagged, a growing bloom of fresh blood spreading from two holes in the left side of his chest, and Evan fell back with the doctor, trying to hold Stephen up, but seemed surprised as his legs gave way as well.

Then Rowan saw why. Evan's skin was pink, his eyes were blue... and his chest was bleeding. Where he'd been stabbed, by Rowan's hand.

"Oh no... no," Rowan stammered, and reached out for him.

Stephen fumbled for the syringe in Rowan's hand, gasped wetly as he drew up the blood welling from one of the bullet wounds in his chest, and quickly thrust the needle into Evan's side, depressing it fully.

Then he sagged back against the bed frame, his eyes intently focused on the young man as he struggled to breathe.

"Nora!" Rowan yelled, "Help!" He couldn't watch Evan right now, he had to focus on Stephen, try to save him, try to use the knowledge he'd stolen. He'd done it before, it had to work again, right?!

Using his good hand, he pulled Stephen free of the bed frame, lying him flat on the floor. The doctor's eyes stayed fixed on Evan's quiet form, waiting, watching. He coughed, and blood sprayed on the floor.

Nora appeared on his left. "I'm here, Stephen... Oh god..."

Evan began to tremble, then started to shake in some kind of fit.

"Nora.. my arm's out, can you get it back in? I need to help Stephen." Rowan pulled Stephen's shirt back, and he stared in shock at the wounds as they bubbled and pulsed in blood. Pressing his hand against them, he focused, trying to reconnect to the person's memories inside who knew what to do.

_Come on, please..._

Then Nora popped his arm back in without warning, and he yelled out, doubling over for a minute, more tears squeezing from his eyes. "Shit... thanks... god... we need blood, uh... IV line, need to get him to surgery."

_It's not working, why can't I..._

"The other nurse and Tianna," Rowan muttered frantically, "We need them Nora, hurry. COLONEL!" Yelling over his shoulder, he saw John was already standing there. "We need Dan!"

"Already called him," the man answered, his voice heavy, "He's coming, but Rowan, I don't think Steph-"

"SHUT UP!" Rowan snapped, and as the anger and desperation rose in him in a rush, he immediately felt something switch on inside, felt in control. The noises coming from Stephen's chest suddenly spoke to him, and he knew exactly what he needed. He'd been in the army, a combat medic, he remembered now. "I need six units of blood, I need an oxygen mask, that one over the bed will do, sealing bandage, looks like a round plastic thing, needles and tubes for drains, and a stretcher. NOW."

The Colonel left and returned a second later with an oxygen mask. Rowan grabbed it, fixing it over Stephen's face as the doctor remained riveted on Evan.

Evan's trembling slowed, stopped. He took a deep breath, then another, and then relaxed, his breaths coming slow and steady, as if in sleep.

Stephen reached out, took the young man's hand, and smiled, coughing blood in the mask again.

Then he looked up at nothing in particular, still smiling.

"That was for... you... Dav..id," he said through wet gasps.

And Rowan felt the stuttering muscle under his hand falter and fade, felt the last trembling breath whistle from the holes between his fingers...

...and he felt Stephen die.


	41. The Medic

Stephen was dead. The doctor who'd helped to save his life had just died under his hands.

The stolen memories slipped from Rowan's mind, as the shock hit him hard, and he stared in horror at Stephen's empty face.

_Oh god... I failed... I... couldn't...  
_

Something snapped into place inside.

_Get a fucking grip, man. You know what you're doing._

The voice in his mind wasn't really his, and it scared him a little, but he took a deep breath, and something took over, barking orders to everyone within reach as they lifted Stephen onto a stretcher and he sealed the wounds and started compressions. The transfusion line went in quick, and by the time they'd reached OR, he'd started a reliable rhythm with the defib and knew exactly how he was going to tackle the ballistic trauma to the man's chest and lung.

Everything felt right, everything went right, and while he'd lost a few in the field under similar conditions, he worked damn hard to make sure he wouldn't have to go through that again with this guy.

For some reason, they kept calling him 'Rowan' in the OR, he wasn't sure why, but it made him feel funny, made his hands work funny, so they stopped, and called him Jack instead like he asked. The guy working opposite him, Dan, was cool. Didn't have any army experience but knew his shit, and laughed at a few of his worst jokes. There was a cute chick who really shouldn't have been there, her hands trembled the entire time they were working, and she wouldn't stop staring at him as he cut away the lung tissue they had no chance of saving. He understood they were short on people, he just wished she hadn't stared at him like that. Made him uncomfortable.

Then they were done, and they wheeled the guy back to the ICU, and he had a lot to say about their setup, some improvements they might be able to make, and they all just nodded, and stared at him, until he stopped talking and stared back.

"What?"

Dan looked at the Colonel standing beside him, who Jack honestly thought was a bit of an ass, though he had to respect the guy's military experience, and the Colonel nodded and walked away.

"Here, this is your bed," Dan said, and took Jack gently by the arm, guiding him to the only other spare bed, to the right of their patient. Some kid was set up on the other side of the room, a thin, young guy with the whitest hair Jack had ever seen. Possibly shock related. He sure didn't look like an albino.

Jack glanced over his shoulder at the Colonel, who'd grabbed something from the far side of the room and was walking back with it. Then he turned back to Dan, shaking his head. "I don't need a bed doc, I'm fine. I've gotta get back to Amy, she's probably worried."

Dan raised an eyebrow, but nodded slowly. "This will only take a moment, you've got a couple of cuts I want to look at."

Jack snorted, "Dan, I can take care of those myself. Seriously, I need to get home. Can I borrow somebody's phone?"

"Jesus Christ," the Colonel whispered under his breath as he came around the side of the bed. "Just indulge us, or better yet, consider it an order."

The smile left Jack's face. "With all due respect  _sir_ , you're not my commanding officer."

"Who is?" the man asked intently, and followed the question quickly with another. "What year is this?"

"John, I don't think we should push him," Dan said quietly, and started looking at Jack's shoulder, pressing it gingerly.

"What year is this?" Jack said with a laugh. "What the hell kind of question is tha-ow!" He winced then, jerking back from Dan. "Damn... what happened to my arm?"

"Okay, that's it," the Colonel said with a sigh, and held something up in front of him. "Son, I need you to look at this for me."

It was a hand mirror.

Jack grinned. He got it now, these people were pranking the new guy. "Okay, um, this has been fun, but I have to go. I'll get the bus back. No need for a ride."

"This is someone he's  _eaten_ , Dan," the Colonel snapped at the doctor, "You know that, right? Some goddamn soldier he's killed. Jesus fucking Christ!"

This wasn't funny anymore, and Jack had had enough. He put his hand squarely on the Colonel's chest, and  _shoved_. "You back the fuck up  _sir_. I'll be heading home now."

Dan put a stalling hand on Jack's chest, took the mirror from the Colonel, who was turning a brilliant shade of red, and put the mirror in Jack's hands.

"Before you go," he said casually, "take a look at that cut over your eye for me. Might need stitches but I'm not sure."

Jack glared a moment longer at the Colonel, then nodded. "Sure." Then he stared down into the mirror, looking for the cut.

But there was no cut.

And those weren't his eyes.

And that wasn't his face.

"What the?" For some stupid reason, he turned, as if he could catch the kid in the mirror looking over his shoulder, but there was nobody there, and for a minute he kicked himself for doing something so dumb.

And then, the world started to crumble away from him. Because those eyes... those  _were_ his eyes.

And that was his face...

And...

Rowan blinked, and he stared back up at Dan, completely and utterly lost.

Dan smiled hopefully, "Rowan?"

Rowan's mouth opened, but nothing came out, so he tried again. "I..."

Hands grabbed him roughly around the neck of his hospital gown, and suddenly the Colonel's face filled his vision, red, angry, as the man started shaking him, hard.

"Who was he?!" the Colonel yelled, "Where'd you kill him?! You take him in combat?!"

"I..." Rowan couldn't think of what to say, and didn't fight back. He didn't understand... What the hell had just happened? How did he... he was...

"JOHN! STOP IT! Let him go!" Dan pulled the Colonel's hands away, and pushed in between them, facing off against the soldier. "He saved Stephen's life!"

_I did?_

_No... wait... yes I did, I... was... I..._

Without warning, the world lurched sideways, and suddenly Rowan was on the ground. Dimly he realized that his legs had just folded up underneath him, but it was okay. He hadn't felt the fall that much at all.

People were jostling him, yelling above him, but he didn't feel them much either.

He was lost in his own head, trying to figure out who he had just been, and how he had become that person so completely, that his face had been like a stranger's.

Where was Amy anyway? Was she still alive? Could he find her if he needed to? To let her know he was still...

_STOP IT. That's not me._

"Rowan? Can you hear me?"

The voice somehow found him where he was, and Rowan finally focused outside of himself, staring up into the face of the doctor. He hadn't really noticed Dan's eyes before, how gentle they were, dark blue, framed by fine wrinkles. Tired, worried, kind eyes.

Dan was a good guy. Great doctor too. Real steady, good hands, knew how to improvise when the situation called for it. The guy would be perfect in the field...

_Wait... what field?_

_What the fuck! Get out of my head!_

"He's really out of it," the man said, turning back to a pair of legs standing nearby, "Help me get him on the bed."

Hands grabbed him then, strong and sure, and suddenly he wasn't on the floor anymore. He was in a bed. Again. Every time he turned around, he was in a goddamn hospital bed. Why couldn't he stay out of hospitals?

He'd had enough of them. It's why he'd joined the army in the first place, he wanted out of the routine crap...

_God..DAMMIT. That's NOT ME either!_

This wasn't fucking fair. He'd just got his memories back after eight years of being a dead eyed, mind wiped zombie! He couldn't fall apart like this again!

_I'm Rowan, not Jack. ROWAN._

"Rowan," he said out loud.

Then he frowned. He was staring up at the ICU ceiling. Again. What was he doing here?

"Welcome back."

Rowan almost jumped out of his skin. Lifting his head, he saw Dan standing at the end of the bed smiling at him, his hands lightly resting on the metal frame.

Confused, Rowan looked around the room. Stephen was in the bed next to him, and someone was lying in the bed beyond that, though he couldn't see who. But, what had happened to John? The guy had been ready to beat him up a minute ago.

"Where'd the Colonel go?"

Dan smirked, "Oh, I kicked him out."

How the hell had he missed something as awesome as that? "When?"

"About an hour ago."

Rowan jerked upright in the bed, his eyes going wide, "What?!"

Dan just smiled. "You've been out of it for a while Rowan." Then he moved to Rowan's side. "What do you remember?"

Groaning, Rowan held his head in his hands, "Jesus. I don't know what's going on."

"Well I do. You just provided critical trauma care, resuscitated someone who was clinically dead, and performed a complex surgical procedure," Dan said quietly. "Do you remember doing any of that?"

Sighing, he looked up at the doctor. "Yes."

_God, don't ask me how, I don't want to explain how._

Dan grinned, "Great! Can you do it again?"

The question took him completely off guard. "What?"

"I'm short two doctors. Tianna is physically fine, but mentally she's completely traumatized. You know exactly how Stephen is. Neither will be available for duty for at least a month, and I have no alternates. I saw your work. I don't quite understand it, but I saw it. I need you."

Rowan shook his head quickly. "No, I can't. It's not what you think. I'm not..." He didn't know how to finish and just shook his head again, "No."

Dan crossed his arms, the smile falling from his face. "I realize the experience was jarring for you. I'm sorry it hit you so hard, and what John did was totally out of line. But we have a real need here, particularly with the dead, and based on what I saw this morning, you're my only option."

"You don't understand," Rowan said, looking down at his hands. "I wasn't myself when I did that. That wasn't me."

Dan nodded. "I noticed you seemed to adopt a new personality - you called yourself Jack? I'm happy to call you Jack any time you need me to, if it'll help, I just-"

"Dan, you're not getting what I'm saying." With a deep sigh, he realized he was going to have to explain after all. "Jack is someone I killed. I took his memories. I used them to help Stephen, but I ended up losing myself in them. I  _became_ Jack."

The doctor's face was carefully neutral. "Okay."

Dan's reaction made him angry. "I do shit like that," he snapped, "and I don't know who I am. Jack isn't the only person I killed Dan. I've got hundreds of people in here. I don't want to lose myself in any of them, because I might not be able to find my way back."

Dan was quiet for a while, and Rowan was hopeful that maybe he'd got through to him, that maybe Dan could see how dangerous it was for him to do this. He'd only just reclaimed who he was, he couldn't handle losing himself again.

"Can you walk?" Dan asked quietly.

Rowan cocked an eyebrow at him. "I'm losing my mind Dan, not my legs."

"Come here for a minute," Dan said, and walked over to Stephen's bedside.

Rowan swiveled off the bed, felt okay, felt like he could support himself, and followed Dan.

"Let's just say that I buy the stealing memories thing," Dan said, then pointed to Stephen. "You just saved this man's life today. You saved Stephen's life. If you hadn't acted as you did, he'd be dead. And you have the ability, one I'll admit I don't understand, to save more."

The doctor turned back to Rowan, "That's got to mean something to you."

Rowan found that offensive. "Holy shit Dan," he snapped, "of course it means something! I'm not an asshole, I'm just..."

_I'm scared._

"Then  _help_ me," Dan said emphatically, "Do it again. And I'll do everything I can to help you find a way to do it without losing yourself."

Rowan had no counter for that. He stared at Dan, knowing the guy meant it, that he would try to help him. But, would he be able to? The guy didn't even understand what was going on!

Wasn't it worth the risk though, if he could help people?

Rowan looked over at Stephen. It was strange, seeing him as a patient. The man had always been so in control here, always had a way of reassuring people, making them feel like everything was going to be okay. Now he looked so damn vulnerable. Pale, bruised. Bandages and drains covered his chest, and the ventilator twitched over him with every rise of his chest.

The man had died under his hands, and Rowan had brought him back. Even if he'd been someone else at the time, it felt... amazing.

_Use it, don't hide from it.  
Make the difference they can no longer make._

_...okay Mom._

With a deep breath, Rowan looked back at Dan. "I'll try," he said. When the smile returned to the doctor's face, he spoke quickly, "I just don't know how reliable it is, how far I can take it. It might go away when I need it most."

Dan reached out and gently squeezed his arm. "What you did today is about the most stressful, most complicated thing you would ever do here, and you did it without breaking a sweat. This will work."

Rowan smirked. "Okay, like I said, I'll try."

"You'll  _do_ , I know it. Now get some sleep. I'll handle the rest of this shift, and I'll get you up to speed tonight. We'll keep it light for now."

Rowan's eyes bulged, "You want me to start tonight?!"

"Yep. I'm desperate for help. I've got a couple of exhausted paramedics who spend most of their day doing triage at the stadium, one good nurse, two shell shocked nurses, another home sick, and the second best doctor in this hospital is lying right there," he pointed at Stephen. "You're all I've got."

"But!"

Dan smiled, and patted him on the arm. "You'll be fine, I'll make sure of it."

Rowan opened his mouth, and just closed it again, because he couldn't think of anything to say. It was insane.

Then his eyes fell to the figure on the bed next to Stephen's, and his stomach took a nose dive.

"Oh crap."

"What?" Dan asked, turning to look. Then he nodded, "I was going to ask if you knew who that was. He was the corpse from the house, but that's about all I have on him."

"Christ." Rowan gripped the end of Stephen's bed and his knuckles turned white. The memory of pain ghosted through his side. "You have to restrain him. You have to do that now."

Dan frowned, "But he's not a corpse anymore Rowan, there's no need."

Rowan shook his head, "No, you don't understand. He was  _killing_ people Dan, he was  _eating_ them,  _before_ he was a corpse. I mean, okay, he was infected, but he wasn't completely dead, I don't know how, but he was feeding his sister and-"

"Rowan," Dan said evenly, "Slow down please."

"His name is Evan, his sister, Rachel, is the girl who was brought in from the house-"

"That's Evan? Okay, that makes sense now. The girl's been in a shelter for the past few weeks, kept saying his name over and over. Still won't talk. I'll bring her in, get them tog-"

"Dan, would you listen to me?! Evan killed and ate people! He killed people and fed them to his sister! He's not right in the head! You have to restrain him, or keep him under, please!"

The doctor looked over at the young man, then back at Rowan.

"I'm not helping you until you do," Rowan said, straightening up to face Dan. He felt bad for giving an ultimatum, but didn't care. They didn't understand who Evan was, hadn't seen what he was capable of. His mind flashed with the memory of hanging above a pool of blood, and his forehead broke out in a sweat. "Please."

Dan's face went hard, and Rowan knew he'd pushed a little too much. But he couldn't, wouldn't take it back.

"Fine." Dan sighed, "You'll have to help me though."

So he did, and Evan didn't wake, which was good, because Rowan had no idea how he would react if Evan had. The guy terrified him.

But at least now, he was under control.

"Dan?" he asked, as they finished. There was something he needed to know. But he dreaded the answer.

"Yeah?"

"What happened to the soldier?"

The doctor's mouth grew thin and Rowan's heart sank. He knew what was coming.

"He didn't make it," Dan answered, "There was nothing anyone could do Rowan, I'm sorry."

_I should have reached her quicker, I should have stopped her. Fuck._

The doctor was watching him, his expression sympathetic. "Sometimes Rowan, that's what happens. No matter how hard you try, you can't save everyone. You'll have to get used to that if you're going to help us here."

Rowan didn't say anything. How could he ever get used to that? There was no way he would. He had a feeling Jack had though. Thinking of the medic brought an unexpected rush of his experience in the army, horrific memories of soldiers screaming in dust, bleeding out from limbs that'd been shredded by explosives and gunfire. Heads shattered to pulp, dribbling from under failed helmets. The images kept coming, Rowan couldn't make them stop, and they were so much worse than anything he'd seen as a corpse. He'd been doing the killing then, and the screams were just sounds that filled the air as he ate, at least at first. To Jack, each scream, each cry of suffering was a call, something that tore at him until he answered it, and made it right.

But he couldn't always make it right.

Didn't matter. He just kept trying. He'd find ways to cope with the hurt of losing someone, of seeing the things he'd seen. Jokes others would find horrific, the occasional bruised fist from punching a wall, sometimes when he was by himself he'd let stuff fly. Tears, rage. Whatever it took.

And he just kept going. Kept trying. Because that's all that mattered.

Because it was who he was.

"I know how it goes doc," he said, feeling a little patronized. "It's not like I haven't lost people." He stared down at the kid on the bed, and noticed he'd been restrained. That was new.

No, wait. Hadn't he done that with Dan a minute ago? Something about the kid had really bugged him then, but he couldn't place it now.

When he turned back to Dan, the doctor was looking at him funny.

"Jack?" the man asked, sounding surprised.

"Yeah?" he answered, wondering what the hell was wrong with these people. Why did everyone look at him like he was growing a second head?

Dan didn't say anything for a minute, just kept staring at him thoughtfully, so Jack prompted him. "What you need?"

The doctor's expression grew to a smile. "Your help, actually. Can you walk with me?"

Jack shrugged. "Sure. What's up?"

Dan's smile turned into a grin, and he clapped him on the back. "I need the benefit of your experience."

The doctor took him on a tour of their setup, explained that this was a military hospital that'd been set up in a regular clinic out of necessity, and had him look at a few charts, picked his brain on procedure and diagnosis, and his take on treatment options for a few of the patients. Jack had the feeling he was being tested, but took it in stride. While he'd had more experience in trauma care in the field, he'd almost completed his residency in Wishard before joining the army, and knew his way around the bureaucratic pretzel that was hospital care. This place was nowhere near as complex or uptight. He liked that.

As the tour went on though, questions kept popping up in his head that he had no answers for, and eventually he had to stop Dan as the doctor was showing him through their drug supplies.

"Dan? Can you hold up a minute?"

"Sure. If I'm going too fast let me know."

Jack shook his head, "Nope, not at all. I just... I have some blanks I need filling."

Dan's manner changed. The ease dropped from his posture, and he turned from the shelves, crossing his arms. "Blanks?"

"Yeah. I'm a little confused. You're clearly prepping me for a job."

"I am, yes. You'd be a real asset here."

"And that's great, but..." Jack paused, because he was a little embarrassed. "I don't remember applying for this job? I don't... this is going to sound strange, but... I don't remember how I got here?"

Dan's expression didn't change, and Jack didn't know if that was good or bad.

"What's the last thing you do remember?" the doctor finally asked, and then reached for his arm, gently guiding him from the room, "Let's head back to ICU."

"Well..." Jack said, allowing himself to be led, and trying to think. Trying to remember. He'd finished his tour overseas, he'd come home to Amy. God, he really needed to give her a call.

It was strange, but he hadn't seen anyone use a phone in this place.

They'd talked about what he was going to do then. He'd planned to try for a position at a local hospital, but Amy had a good paying job and wanted him to take a few weeks to unwind, to get the army out of his system. It cracked him up, but she didn't think it was all that funny, especially since she had to deal with him flailing around at night, and it scared her.

To make Amy feel better, he'd agreed. Started to go stir crazy, started to go for long runs around the city. Every morning she'd give him a hug and a kiss, and tell him to be careful, people were idiots on the road, he needed to wear something brighter, get the headphones out of his ears, anything she could think of, and he'd always grin and tell her she worried too much.

He'd been out running. And... he'd waited for the light, run out on the crosswalk, and...

Visceral memory flared through his body... an echo of a crushing impact and terrible pain. Then... nothing.

"Well fuck me," he said quietly.

Dan stopped in the hallway and looked back at him. "Excuse me?!"

Jack snorted. "Some asshole hit me with his car! Came out of nowhere and mowed me down!"

Dan's mouth fell open. "You were hit by a car? Someone was driving a car? On the road?" He frowned thoughtfully.

The response was a little strange, and Jack frowned back. "Where else would they be driving it?"

"Nevermind... what else do you remember?"

Jack scratched his head. "That's it. Car, followed by nothing much, then a dead guy under my hands, surgery with you, and a grand tour. What the hell doc? Am I... was I a patient here?"

Dan's mouth pursed thoughtfully. "Actually-"

"R!"

Jack turned to the sound of a girl's voice yelling from the other end of the hall, and had a moment to see a young blonde lady, her blue eyes drawn in worry, running towards them before Dan stepped across, blocking his view.

"Julie, this is a really bad time. Can you wait in the lobby for a minute?"

"Why, what's going on? R? Are you okay?"

Jack kept getting glimpses of her as she tried to see around Dan, but the doctor kept moving between them, and was slowly guiding her back.

Looked over his shoulder, he expected to see the person she was so desperately calling out to, but there was no-one there.

Then he stepped forward, without really knowing why. But there was something about the girl... he needed to see her. "Dan, hold up, who-"

"It's okay Jack, I'll be right back."

"Jack?" Julie said, staring in confusion at Dan, before peering back over his shoulder.

"Julie, seriously, you can see him in a moment, there's something very... delicate going on here."

Jack walked after him, caught in the glimpses of the girl's eyes, and grabbed the doctor by the arm. "I said hold up, I..."

Julie took the opportunity, pushing her way past Dan and engulfing Jack in a hug. It felt so incredibly  _good_ , he hugged her back, closing his eyes as a feeling of peace drifted over him like a warm blanket.

Then she pulled away. "Rowan, why'd he call you Jack?"

Slowly, his eyes opened and he stared down at her, frowning.

"Because that's my name?"

But even as he said it, it felt strange. Something about this girl... made him feel strange.

Julie pulled away further, her eyes growing wide, her mouth falling open. "What?"

"I tried to tell you Julie," Dan said, and sighed. "Jack, can you wait for me in the ICU?"

"I..." he said, still staring at the girl. At Julie.

_Julie._

_She called me Rowan. They've all called me Rowan... I'm... I..._

"Damn, Julie, he did this before. Help me get him to ICU before he collapses."

Julie drew into him, wrapping her arms around him in another warm hug, and smiled up at him. "Rowan, I'm here. You're okay."

He was drawn into the smell of her skin, her hair, the blue of her eyes, and found himself lowering to her, his heartbeat a pounding drum in his chest. What was he doing? Amy would kill him, he wasn't...

As their lips touched, the thoughts slipped from his mind like shattered glass to the floor. His legs crumpled and he sagged against her for a moment, lost and empty.

"R!" she cried, struggling to hold him up, and he responded to her call, pulling himself back together again, finding his legs and rising slowly to his feet.

"Rowan?" she said quietly, questioningly.

He opened his eyes. Julie's beautiful face was inches from his, her ocean blue eyes flicking back and forth between his own, as if she were searching for him inside, trying to draw him out.

Rowan smiled. Julie's eyes dropped his mouth and rose again with a wide smile of her own.

"You're back," she said, not asking, just saying.

He nodded, not really trusting himself to speak just yet. His mind felt like it was frayed. Unraveling. He was trying to weave it back together, but some of the threads he was using didn't belong to him.

Dan was suddenly by his side, a steadying hand under his shoulder. "Julie, we need to get him back to ICU."

She nodded, and moved to Rowan's side, holding him as they walked back into the room.

"To the bed, come on," Dan said, and they guided him over.

"Don't want to lie down again," Rowan finally said, putting a hand out on the bed as they tried to help him into it.

Dan looked at him sternly. "Rowan, you collapsed in a stupor last time, it might happen again."

Rowan shook his head, "Not this time."

"How do you know?"

"Julie," he answered simply. Then he glared at Dan. "And thanks a lot  _doc_ ," he spat the word out, "for dragging me around the hospital for an hour when I wasn't myself. Really appreciate that."

"Rowan," Dan said evenly, "I'm sorry, but I knew I had an opportunity to see what you knew, how much you understood."

"I don't know anything! That was all Jack!" Rowan shook himself free of the doctor's supporting hand. "I thought you were going to help me, not use me!"

"Guys!" Julie snapped suddenly.

They both turned.

"Someone tell me what's going on," she said, looking back and forth between them, her mouth set in a tight line, "right now!"

Dan held his hands up, bowing out of explaining.

"There was an outbreak in the hospital," Rowan started. "Place got over-"

Julie cut him off, "I know about that. Dad told me. He said something about you too, but I didn't understand it, and he wouldn't explain, he just got angry." She took his hand, linking her fingers through his, "R, why did you call yourself Jack? Who's Jack?"

"Jack is a conundrum," Dan said quietly. "He's still living in the time before the first outbreak. I don't get it. The guy talks about going for runs, using the phone, taking a bus. I don't think Jack ever saw a corpse. I thought he was just some dissociative personality, but we talked about his schooling, his residency, his time in the war. There's no way you've just made that up Rowan. I believe you."

"About time," Rowan mumbled under his breath.

"First off," Julie said, snapping at Dan, "I asked R, not you. But what the hell are you talking about? Believe what?"

"Stolen memories," Dan answered. "Though really, this is more like stolen personality."

Julie turned to look at R. "Oh..." she said quietly. "Oh."

Rowan nodded, and looked down at their hands.

Julie squeezed his. "Tell me."

He shook his head, still looking down. The last time he'd shared, Julie had been horrified. Had run off and left him.

Julie sighed, and pulled his attention up. "R, you can tell me, I'm not going to leave. I'm not running away this time."

Rowan sighed and closed his eyes.

* * *

_Bet nobody saw that coming. ;) I'm going to try to get another chapter up tonight, but it'll be in at least an hour. Hope you've enjoyed this one._


	42. The Hospital

There were lots of smells at the hospital. So many interesting scents. He'd been drawn here on his first solo walk through the city, before the humans had organized enough to go on sweeping raids, and still fled in panicked disarray at the sight of a single corpse.

He'd tracked a strong life scent to an old man who lived on the top floor, close to the roof where the man set traps for pigeons, and he'd fed for a while, then wandered again, drawn to something new. A human smell, but so new it was almost alien. He'd stood outside a room, looking through a glass window at a sea of little tables, some still holding discarded hats and tiny socks.

For a long time he'd stood there, on the other side of the glass, staring, drinking in the smell. The cries of newborns echoing in his mind from the empty cribs.

Life started here. And life had moved on.

He moved on too, shuffling deeper through the hospital. More smells drew him, strange smells that tasted wrong, very much dead human, but spiked with something that his being did not like. Jars filled the room he walked into, strange devices, and slices of things he recognized but couldn't touch. The jars held organs, limbs and other parts he had pulled from people, but they were bloodless and pale, lifeless. It disturbed him greatly, and he left as quickly as a shuffling corpse could.

As he passed a double door on the way out of hospital, he caught the slightest scent of life. So faint he'd missed it on his way in, drawn by the stronger buzz of the old man. The door swung in, and back out and in again, and he sniffed the air, confused. It was such a faint smell.

With shuffling steps, he moved down the hall, following, then losing the scent. There were signs above his head, and all around, but they meant nothing. He backtracked, rediscovered the scent, and continued down another hallway. Papers littered the floor, beds had been rammed up against doors. Death smell came from one room, he ignored it and moved on.

Finally he reached a door at the end of the hall, and the scent was the strongest it had been, though there was a strong smell of death too. Something was rammed up against the door, some machine, and he casually threw it aside. It crashed against the opposite wall and went rolling down the hall.

The door was locked. It took more effort than he normally expended, but eventually, he shattered it inwards, and stumbled into the room, lit by warm sunlight spilling in through the corner window.

There were two people in the room. One was dead. A woman with long black hair, her body swollen with decay, hands dangling on either side of the chair she sat on. A dramatic spray of her life blood, dark and dried, spattered the wall, the chair, the floor. A gun lay just below her puffy fingers.

His nostrils flared. Her death smell was laced with something very familiar, and his eyes fell to a messy gash on her forearm. A bite. With a soft sound, he walked to her and he looked for a long moment into her clouded eyes.

A breath. The sound was unexpected in the still space, so absorbed was he in the woman's death, that he turned quickly, surprised. It was something he did not experience very often. He gazed down at the other figure.

The man lay stiffly on the bed, legs and arms evenly spaced, tubes going in and out from machine to man and back again. Tape covered his eyes, and his curly blonde hair was strangely short on one side.

The man breathed again, soft and shallow.

The man did not have long to live, the corpse understood this, could taste it in the man's scent, in the air from his lungs.

But for now, the man was alive.

And the corpse was  _hungry_.

This was something new for him. Food that didn't fight. He groaned, feeling the need inside, and the noise had no effect on the man. The figure didn't stir.

Confusion rippled through him. For a moment, he felt the strangest urge to leave. To back out of the room, shut the shattered door and move on, move to where life pulsed fast and strong. Where life could only be taken with effort, with risk, with struggle.

_Because it wasn't fair otherwise._

Frowning, he stared down at the man. The thoughts were strange inside his head, and he had never felt these things he was feeling before. It disturbed him, and he realized he didn't  _like_ it.

He snarled down at the man, and the man did not move, and it made him feel...  _angry_.

Feeling strange, feeling wrong,  _feeling_ more than he ever had since leaving the airport, he grabbed the man by the throat and lifted him from the bed. The man hung limply, so he shook him. No life stirred in the man's taped face, but the life smell tugged at his senses, dizzying this close.

Finally, he bit, and the feelings that had so disturbed him dissipated, and everything was as it should be. The blood and meat flowed into him, filling him, his body buzzed with it.

Before the heart could stop, he shattered the man's skull against the bed frame and pried it open.

Then he ate everything the man was, and dreamed of being Jack for a very long while, as he sat, slumped against the blood spattered wall.

Just another dead thing in a dead hospital.


	43. The Way Out

"Noooo... no no," he moaned, balling his hands against his eyes, as he curled in on himself on the bed, tears flowing down his face.

_No.. please..._

"Rowan... you're okay, everything's okay."

The soft voice pulled at him through his grief, and he dropped his hands from his face to look at Julie.

"I'm here," she said softly, "I'm not leaving you."

His throat seized as the sobs tore from him again. "She said the same thing, I remember that now."

"Who?"

"Amy... that was my wife, in the chair... that was my wife... oh.. god...no.." The grief pulled him under, his heart was drowning in it. Everything he'd seen, walking as some dead thing into that room, seeing his wife. Dead and bloated. She'd killed herself? Why had she done that?!

_Because she'd been bitten, Jack._

His eyes grew wide as he lay there. _Oh shit._  The corpse was talking to him in his own head!

 _It's_ my _head Jack, not yours!_

_Fuck off asshole! You ate me, you fucking killed me!_

"Oh no," came the girl's voice again, "Rowan... baby, you're not Jack. Remember who you are."

"Julie, it might be wise to let him ride this out."

"I can't Dan.. I can't stand seeing him like this."

Amy had died right next to him, and he hadn't even noticed. How could he not notice?! Why didn't he wake and stop her?

_You were in a coma. You couldn't._

_Stop talking to me! Get out of my head!_

_It's MY HEAD Jack! I'm sorry for what I did, but I couldn't help myself!_

The sobs slowly died in his throat, and he sat up, staring at nothing for a moment before swiveling his legs from the bed.

Julie was standing in front of him. "R?" she asked hopefully.

But he didn't say anything.

"R?" she asked again, her voice uncertain.

Finally, he smiled at her and looked down at himself. "Hey, do I have any clothes? Getting a bit tired of this hospital shift."

She frowned, staring at him intently. "Rowan?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you okay?"

"Sure," he answered, smiling again. "I'd just like to get some real clothes on."

"Oh," Julie said quietly, and turned to Dan. "Where'd you put that bag I brought?"

The doctor pointed to a closet against the side wall. "They're in there." He turned back as Julie walked over to grab them. "Rowan, how'd you come back this time?"

He shrugged. "I just talked him out of my own head I guess."

Dan nodded. "Well that's progress. We might be able to use that, keep you in control."

"Yeah," he agreed, through clenched teeth. "We could use that."

Julie returned with the bag, and he took it with a smile. "Thanks Julie."

"Sure..."

Pulling the clothes free, he quickly pulled on the jeans, socks, the t-shirt, then stopped when he found the black jacket.

"Where's the red hoodie?" he asked, looking up at Julie.

She blinked. "What?"

"The hoodie I used to wear, when I was a corpse?"

"R... you haven't worn that since you came back to life."

"Oh. That's right," he said, and sighed. "I was just feeling a little nostalgic. Nevermind."

As he pulled on his shoes, Dan stepped forward, "Um, Rowan, I don't think it's wise for you to leave the hospital just yet. You're still pretty fragile from this morning, and th-"

The punch caught Dan totally off guard, hard and square on the chin, and the doctor crumpled bonelessly to the floor.

Jack stood over him, his face twisted in anger, "Were you ever planning on telling me the truth, or were you just going to keep stringing me along?! Keep me blind while I worked in your stupid hospital?!"

"R!" Julie cried, staring at him in shock, her eyes wide.

"Sorry lady, he's not here." Moving quickly, he crossed the room and grabbed a syringe from the supply shelves and a small bottle from a nearby tray, drawing the fluid into the syringe until it was full.

Julie followed him, talking to him the whole time. "Rowan, I know you're in there, fight this!"

_Julie..._

_Stay out of my head Rowan, or I'll hit her, just like I hit Dan._

Rage bloomed in him from nowhere, then dissipated.

_Yeah, that's right._

When he turned to leave, Julie stepped in his path, reaching towards him. "Stop!" she cried, and her eyes were wet, "Please... he never meant to hurt you... Jack... please let him go."

Jack did not meet her eyes, and he pulled back from her hand. With one deft movement, he took the syringe and pressed it against a vein on the inside of his elbow.

"Back off, or you can watch us die of a heart attack right here," he said quietly.

Julie withdrew her hand as if she'd been stung, and stepped away, clearly horrified. A single tear made its way down her cheek.

For a moment, it reached him, and his heart grew heavy. He hadn't wanted to cause her any pain. The kid's memories were open to him, he knew how much she meant to the boy.

But the bloated dead body of his wife flashed in his mind, and his heart shriveled to a black ball in his chest.

"Now say goodbye to your boyfriend," he said with a heavy sigh.

"What? No," she cried, frantic, "no, don't hurt him!"

"You want those to be your last words to him? Come on, you can do better."

Tears fell freely down her face for a moment, then she stammered through them, holding his gaze as she spoke, "I-I love you Rowan. You'll come back to me, I know you will."

Those eyes. Jack stared at her, stunned by what he saw in them. Felt in them.

Then he quickly shook his head and looked away. "Good," he whispered, his throat feeling suddenly thick, "That's good. I wish Amy had been able to say the same to me."

He smiled at her then, a terribly sad smile, and pushed his way out of the ICU, down the hall and out of the hospital, dropping the syringe to the street.

The chill air took his breath for a minute, but he started running, and quickly warmed up, all the while looking for landmarks he recognized. This was definitely their city - he remembered running down and across these streets. There was an old cafe a couple of blocks from here that'd been his and Amy's favorite. But everything was so dead now. So still. Bizarrely dark, empty skyscrapers towered over him. There were only a few people out, in clothes old and worn, and there were no cars. Well, almost no cars. Military vehicles were doing obvious patrols, and some of the men waved at him as they passed.

He tried to keep running, like he used to, but couldn't keep it up, the kid's body was wiped. When he tried to understand why, he was surprised by what the kid had gone through only recently. The fact that he'd pulled through was incredible. Apparently the kid had been in a light coma himself for a few weeks.

Madness. The whole thing was madness. A zombie apocalypse, only a couple of months after he'd been hit by the car. Fucking ridiculous. He had no idea when the kid had taken him, but it couldn't have been long after.

_I'm sorry. I'm so sorry._

"Oh, I know. I can feel it," he said out loud. He'd crossed the old wall markers of the human camp, and there was nobody on the street, so talking to himself wasn't an issue.

He was on the home stretch now.

_Please don't do this. Please stop._

_Shush kid._

Finally, he reached the hospital. The main entrance loomed impressively before him, even with the windows shattered to shards. It looked like people were making efforts to clean the place up - papers had been gathered and stacked, and some of the machines were bundled, ready for transport. Solar panels were sitting by the stairwell inside, probably for installation on the roof. They were going to bring this place back up it seemed.

Good for them.

Pushing his way in, he searched for a directory at the front desk, and finally found a stack of tri-folds in a nearby cabinet. Then it hit him, the kid had been here, why not just follow his memories?

_Please..._

The memories wouldn't come. The corpse was blocking them somehow.

_Stop calling me a corpse!_

_Okay, the kid who ripped my head open and killed me while I was lying defenseless in a coma - that better?!_

Silence.

_Yeah, that's what you did._

_I'm not a fucking kid._

_Shut up._

The Special Care Unit, in one of the side wings, that's what he was looking for. The guide was actually quite helpful and he quickly made his way to the double doors leading into the wing.

Dread rose in him, a dark suffocating wave, and he couldn't tell if that was his emotion or the kid's.

It was obvious whoever was sorting through this place hadn't reached this wing yet. The floor was still strewn with crap, beds and machine were scattered down the hall, some across doorways. He made his way slowly, retracing old steps, and found the hallway leading to his old room.

When he reached the splintered door he stood there for a long moment, his forehead against the cool surface, wrestling with the emotions coursing through his body like snakes in a pit. As his stomach clenched and his heart started to quicken, he could feel the blood pulsing wildly through the kid's body.

The kid was scared.

Or maybe, they both were.

With outstretched fingers he pressed the door inwards, and the smell he'd noticed in the hall got stronger, wrapping around him. Old death.

He walked into the room, keeping his eyes on the floor. Then he finally looked up, at the figure in the chair.

At the sight, his heart broke, and a terrible sound broke from him with it.

Walking slowly, shuffling forward as the kid once had, the sobs breaking from him in waves, he reached out to the skeletal remains of the woman he'd loved.

The chair had turned black, as had her skin, clinging to her remains like tissue paper. Her mouth hung open to the ceiling, her teeth pearls against shriveled black gums. Her eyes had long since withered to nothing.

His mind kept trying to rebuild her, fill in the gaunt caverns of her body, her face, with the life he'd treasured, the soft curves he'd held. Amy's amber eyes had smiled at him that morning, before she'd left. Her mouth had pulled back in a quick grin, and they'd kissed. She'd worn that skirt he loved, the one that showed off her butt, and he'd whistled at her as she'd walked to the car.

Jack's fingers reached the shriveled skin of her cheek, and the flesh disintegrated under his touch.

She was gone. She was dust in an empty room.

She'd come to him dying, and he hadn't even noticed.

Wiping his hand across his wet face, he turned to look at the mess on the bed.

The figure didn't even look human anymore, its head ending in a shattered mess just above the jaw. The skin had drawn tight over the torso and limbs, but bone poked through, yellow on black, where the kid had eaten from him.

He started trembling. And it took a minute to realize that it was coming from the kid.

_Yeah, you look at that. Look at what you did to me._

"Want another bite?" he rasped out loud, his throat tight with tears. "Looks like jerky now."

More tears ran in a flood down his face, and again, he realized the kid was crying.

It got to him a little. But it was a little too late.

There was nothing left. Amy was gone. He was gone. Just a skeleton now. No way to go back.

With a deep sigh, his eyes fell to the gun, still lying in a dried puddle of blood on the floor. Fear swamped him, and his hand shook as he reached for it.

The kid again.

"Son, it's okay, it's not going to hurt. I'm a good shot."

_No! You can't do this, please!_

The grip was strangely warm in his hand, and it surprised him, until he realized the sunlight had filled this room earlier in the day. That was nice. Amy liked rooms with a lot of light.

"I'll be with you soon babe," he said softly, looking into the holes where her eyes used to be.

He patted her skeletal hand gently, and slowly lowered to sit against the wall, where the kid had sat after eating him. At his touch, her hand fell in pieces to the floor, but he wasn't looking at it anymore.

There was a mirror on the wall across the room. A tall, full-length mirror meant for patients to dress in. A young man was sitting in it, staring back at him, crying.

Jack looked away from it quickly, and brought the muzzle of the gun to his temple in one smooth motion.

"S-stop," he found himself saying through gritted teeth, as fresh tears fell.

Dammit, the kid was talking through him now.

"You're right. I forgot something," he answered himself.

Pulling the gun down into his lap, he broke the barrel and checked the cylinder. No blockage, and two rounds.

Perfect. He'd only need one. With speed born of military practice, he snapped the cylinder back in place, brought the gun back up, and pulled the trigger.


	44. The Race Against

Julie had hit three abandoned cars already, taking turns way too fast as she raced the red convertible to the hospital. She'd even passed a single moving car on the road, driven by a young family staring at her wide eyed as she squealed around them swearing.

When R... no, Jack, had run out of the room, she'd stood there, stunned for a moment, shocked that the man she loved spoke with someone else's words and had threatened to kill himself right in front of her.

And when he'd forced her to say goodbye, and the look he'd given her afterwards... she had a horrible feeling she knew what he was planning to do.

The hospital was the only place she could think to go. She had no idea where he'd lived, no idea of anything but the fact that he'd just seen his dead wife through R's memories, and it had destroyed him. And his wife was probably still at the hospital.

"R... please hold on... please," she cried, and wrestled with the steering wheel as she took the last turn with an unexpected tailspin.

After checking on Dan, to make sure he was okay, she'd run out of the hospital looking for R. She didn't see him outside, even after running to the nearest cross street, and she'd immediately headed home, for the car. That time had cost her, because the car wasn't where she'd left it last. Apparently her dad had taken it, 'for repairs', and parked it another street over. Cursing, she'd jumped into it and sped off, a part of her wondering if he'd installed some kind of limiter, or some device to track her every move. At least he'd been kind enough to fill the tank.

Finally she pulled up to the main hospital entrance, parked the car half way up the curb, and ran through the shattered doors into the main lobby, hoping she was in the right place.

It was strange to be back. This is where she'd gone a few months back with Perry, Nora and the rest of the crew to raid for medical supplies. This is where Perry had died.

And this is where she'd met R.

_God... please let him be okay._

Where the hell would Jack's room have been? Twisting in place, she looked for any signs that might lead her to a special coma wing. Did they have coma wings in hospitals? It probably wasn't called that... probably something a little less specific.

And her eyes caught a small sign in the distance for the Special Care Unit.

_That's gotta be it._

Taking off in a run, she sped down the hall to the right off of the main lobby, then almost missed the double doors leading into the wing. Bursting through those doors, she found herself in another hallway with a nurses station at one end, doors everywhere, and two hallways branching off on either side.

"Shit!" she cried, her voice shattering the absolute stillness around her.

Where the hell was she supposed to go now? Was he even here? Was she wasting her time with this?

Aggravated, frantic, she started pushing in through every door she passed. Most led to empty rooms, some to supply closets and bathrooms, one led to another hallway that just left her dizzy. This place was a freaking maze!

_Come on... I felt him before, I can do that again. Is he here?_

There was a resounding  _YES_ inside, so she stopped moving, got as still as she could as her heartbeat pulsed swiftly past her eardrums, and tried to focus.

And it came. That feeling. The rubber band. He was here, he was...  _this way._

Julie started running again, this time down the hall, then through the side hallway to the right. Took stock again, felt that connection again, and raced to the end of the hall, up to a broken door.

Her mouth grew dry. If what R had described was behind this door, this was going to be horrible.

Taking a deep breath to steel herself, she pushed her way into the room.

And it was as if someone had rammed their fist into her chest. The air was sucked away from her as she saw, past two skeletal corpses sprawled on a chair and bed, R slumped against the wall, head back, eyes staring up at nothing, gun held loosely in his hand by his side, and a violent spray of dark blood behind him.

She couldn't speak. She couldn't gather air to scream, or cry, or breathe.

As her mind shut down and her legs crumpled beneath her, she heard the last thing she expected to hear.

R yelling her name.


	45. The Mirror

Click.

_Oh fuck oh fuck HOLY FUCK!_

"Still works," Jack said with a sigh, lowering the gun again. "That's good."

He turned the gun over in his hand. "I have no idea where she got this. The only gun we ever had in the house was a Glock. This is a really old piece of crap."

"Pl-plea..se.. list..en to m-me.." his mouth stuttered, and his hands began to tremble again.

Jack sighed, and tried to steady his borrowed body. "What's there to listen to? You're sorry. I know that. It doesn't change anything. Doesn't fix anything."

He found himself nodding, then his mouth opened again. "I.. know... but.. not about... m-me."

Jack snorted. "Of course it's about you kid, you don't want to die, I get it. But I do. And since I'm driving..."

He raised the gun again, this time carefully lining a round in the cylinder, and pressed the barrel against his temple once more.

"Look at... me," the kid growled through him, and Jack could taste the salt of tears running down his lips and over his gritted teeth.

"No," he answered quietly, and started to squeeze the trigger.

"Please. Won't... take over just.. w-want to talk. One last time.. please. Give me that?"

Jack kept his finger against the trigger, and stared up at the ceiling. Then his gaze fell on the young man in the mirror.

The boy looked a wreck. His eyes were swollen with tears, drawn in terror and despair. But resigned too, and Jack realized that was his expression, his contribution to the terrible mess of the kid's face.

It hurt to see it, and he tried to look away, tried to refocus on just finishing what he started, but his head was locked, his eyes fixed on the young man with a gun to his temple.

At least he still had control of his hand.

"Say what you have to say kid. Time's wasting."

The young man's eyes changed, softening, imploring him. "You saved... Stephen. You... save people. You don't.. kill them."

Jack smirked. "I was in the army son, I was trained to do both."

Something shook his head, and the lights went out for a minute. Jack panicked until he realized the kid had just blinked slowly.

_This is so weird._

_No shit._

_Rowan, if that was your big appeal, we're done here. Close your eyes._

"No!" the kid yelled, and Jack felt his body jerk once in anger. He started to squeeze the trigger again.

"Not finished," the kid continued quickly, "You... WE... have the chance to save... hundreds more... lives together. That's important, that's.. a reason..."

"To live?" Jack finished, and pulled the gun from his head, waving it at the kid in the mirror. "To be stuck in you, TRAPPED in YOU for the rest of YOUR life, being used as some living fucking medical reference till you finally kick the bucket?!"

"FUCK THAT!" he yelled, and pulled the trigger. The mirror shattered, level with his head, and glass sprayed violently outwards in a wide arc, tinkling down before him on the linoleum floor.

"No more talk kid. I have a date with my wife, and it's time to go." He drew the gun up for the last time, and took a deep breath.

"No you don't," the kid said softly, his voice more sure than it had ever been.

Jack snorted, "No I don't what?"

"Have a date with your wife. You won't see your wife."

A laugh burst from him, but it was strangled through the kids throat. "What? Wait, is this a suicide thing? Are you about to tell me I'm going to hell?"

The kid shook his head again. Jack didn't like that, that the kid could still do so much through him, and he quickly went to squeeze the trigger.

But his finger had been frozen.

"Oh you little fucker, you said you weren't going to take control!"

"Listen to me."

"SAY WHAT YOU'RE GOING TO SAY ALREADY!" Jack screamed, wrestling to pull the trigger. Nothing happened, and the tears that fell down his cheeks were his now.

"You're not going to hell," Rowan continued, and his voice was soft. "Because you don't exist."

He sighed then, long and heavy.

"Because you're not Jack."

"W-what?" Jack said, and his voice was shaky. Weak. Like the kid's had been. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Jack  _died_. I killed him. I ate his memories, I didn't eat his fucking soul." Rowan's voice was strong and sure. Angry and terribly sad. "Jack's already passed over. He's already with his wife. You're not Jack."

Jack blinked. "But.. I'm.. I have to be.. I remember.."

"You remember being Jack, because we have his memories. But you're not him."

Rowan lowered the gun to his side.

"You're me."

_Kid, you think I'm that gulli-_

"And that's the last time I call myself 'kid'," Rowan said quietly, dropping the final bullet to the floor with a sigh. "Jack, you are the part of me who hates what I've done. Who wants me to die for what I did. The part of me that's had to live in the guilt and horror of it  _every fucking day_  since I came back. The part that saw a chance to be someone else, to be a man who'd spent his life healing, not killing, and took it. It just went too far, you went too deep, and you... I...  _we..._  forgot who we really were. It took a broken mirror for me to realize that."

"And I'm done with it. I am so fucking done with blaming myself for all of this," Rowan waved the gun around the room, at Jack's corpse on the bed, at the skeletal remains on the chair. "It wasn't my  _fault._ " He said it again, slamming the muzzle against the floor to punctuate the words, "It was NEVER my goddamn FAULT." Releasing a slow, deep breath, he stared at the shattered mirror, at the multitude of fractured faces staring back. "I'm done with blaming myself, hating myself... breaking myself. I'm done."

Tears welled in his eyes, and he wiped at them with his hand.

"Goodbye Jack," he said softly, still staring in the mirror. "I'm going to imagine you with Amy now, and you're on that date, and she's laughing that laugh you love, you're clinking your glasses together, and life is as good as it gets."

The tears spilled freely then, and something went wonderfully quiet inside. Something healed that had been broken, and his hand fell to the floor, and his head fell back, and he stared at nothing for a long while.

And then a light entered the room. Rowan wasn't aware of Julie at first, he was caught up in feeling quietly whole. Fully himself, and free of the dark despair he'd been carrying ever since he'd come back. It felt good.

But she gasped, and he jumped, looking up just in time to see her falling to a floor covered in the shattered fragments of the mirror.

"JULIE!" he yelled, and somehow managed to scramble over in time to catch her before she landed in the jagged mess of shards, scraping his knees and hands in the process, and his shoulder flared in sudden pain as he supported her weight.

"Owowow," he muttered, and pulled her close, sweeping the hair from her closed eyes. "Julie?"

How had she found him? And why had she fainted? He looked over to where he'd been sitting, saw again the massive spray of old blood.  _Jesus_. It must have looked like he'd...

"Oh shit... no, Julie, I'm okay!"

And gently, he kissed her.

And she opened her eyes. They fixed on his, widened, then softened, and she started to cry.

"R..." she whispered, reaching to stroke his cheek, "I thought..."

Rowan shook his head.

"I'm okay," he said softly. "Everything's okay. Jack's... gone. And I'm so sorry for everything he's put you through."

Standing carefully then, he pulled Julie up with him, and slowly walked from the room carrying her in his arms.

And the dead stayed quietly behind.


	46. The Second Chance

Evan woke screaming from a terrible nightmare.

Something had been tearing its way out of him, a dark shriveled creature with empty sockets for eyes that clawed its way out of his mouth, distending his throat and jaw as it pulled itself free. The screams tore from him as he thrashed against the lingering horror of the dream, but he couldn't get free, something had his arms and wouldn't let go!

"Evan!" came a man's voice to his left, "Wake up son!"

Startled, Evan jerked away from the sound and opened his eyes, blinking against the blurry scene that greeted him. He tried to raise his hand to his face, to clear his eyes, but his arm stopped short. Looking down through the blur, he made out some kind of brown thing, a cuff of some kind, secured around his wrist. Confused, he tried to bring his other hand up, and got the same thing.

_What the hell?_

"I'm sure they'll take those off soon," the voice said.

That voice. Warm, deep, he'd heard it before. Somewhere.

He managed to rub his face against his arm, and blinked the world a little sharper, then looked up at the man who'd spoke.

A bearded man was smiling at him, lying back against a raised hospital bed. Tubes and wires snaked from his chest and arm to a machine and a bag hung nearby.

He didn't look so good.

"Hi," the man said, and his smile broadened. "Good to see you up."

Evan was completely confused. He gaze went from the man, took in the rest of the room and the fact he was in some kind of hospital, tied to a bed, and returned to the guy's warm brown eyes.

"Do you remember me?" the guy asked, then started coughing. Hard.

"You okay?" Evan asked, finding himself concerned about the guy. His throat was so dry, his voice came out a whisper.

The man nodded, and dropped his head back against the bed, giving Evan another smile. "Yeah, I'll be fine. How about you? How are you feeling?"

Evan frowned, and lifted his arm again, jangling the restraint against the side of the bed. "Why am I tied up in a hospital? And how the hell do you know my name? Who are you?"

"All good questions," the guy said. "I'm Stephen. Do you know how you got here?"

Evan shook his head. But something flickered in his mind, something that felt more dream than memory. Lying on a different table, restrained. The man, Stephen, had been there, holding his hand. His grey hand.

"What's the last thing you remember Evan?"

More images flashed behind his eyes, fragments of a dream again, nothing real, nothing solid. Living in a house, a monster upstairs, people fell to pieces around him... no... he  _made_ them into pieces...

With a soft grunt, Evan closed his eyes. Something felt wrong. Something felt very wrong. He'd been chasing after his sister, and something terrible had happened to her. She'd been hurt... someone had hurt her, and her throat was... oh fuck, it was all rushing at him now...

"Evan?"

What was playing in his head made him want to curl up into nothing, but the straps on his wrists kept him open to the world, exposed. He couldn't hide from the memories. He couldn't cut the images away. A terrible sound started to build around him, the cry of some person in horrible, breathtaking despair, and he wanted to find them and smother them, make them shut up because he couldn't take it he couldn't take it

"Dear god son, what's wrong?!"

But it wouldn't stop. It played in the background, a howling soundtrack to the scenes flashing in his brain. Running, too slow, to the smudge of pink lying at the foot of a park bench. His sister.  _Rachel?_  Blood pooling on the dry ground. Blood soaked into her jacket, spattered on her little fingers, curled and still against the grass. On her face, on her eyes, her dead eyes.

Her dead eyes...

_Oh god nonono she wasn't resting she was dead she was fucking DEAD_

_Rachel's dead._

The cries turned into a roar that shook the room around him with rage, his throat was ripped raw with it. He couldn't lash out, couldn't hit anything, he had only his voice and he wanted to shatter the world with sound, tear it to pieces for taking the only thing that meant anything away.

A corpse had killed her. Killed her and replaced her with something else. A monster.

And the monster had taken him too.

"Christ, son, I can't reach you..."

The rage died away, and the roar died with it, fading into hoarse heaving gasps as the truth hit him square and center. What he'd thought had been a dream wasn't a dream. It all came back to him then, so vividly clear it cut across his nerves like a blade. He'd brought her home, he'd tried to feed her his food, canned food, animal meat, but nothing worked. She was fading, slowing, DYING. He was desperate, he had to do something... the guy with the gun had been the first. And it'd been okay because the guy had shot at him first, a bad guy, but not a tough guy because he'd screamed like a girl when Evan had taken him up to meet his sister. The sick old woman who'd tried to steal his food was next, then the two brothers. And it had been so hard, so... wrong, the dreams had started hurting him, and he'd gone to her... and she'd... she'd... made him feel... _better._

And then... he was hungry too.

And he'd  _eaten._

Evan tried to pull his arms over his head, tried to curl away to nothing again, tried so hard to disappear, but he couldn't, so he stopped fighting and fell limp against the bed.

And cried, for what felt like a very long time.

And finally, somewhere, a door opened.

"What the  _hell_ took you so long?!" Stephen yelled. "Oh for... no, I'm not going to be quiet - help him!"

Someone moved to his side, he heard them clearly, as their footsteps came soft and crisp on the tile. Evan could feel them too, standing over him, and he tried to roll away. But of course couldn't, he was trapped, caught, an animal in a snare.

Whoever was there released a heavy sigh.

With a gentle tug and a metallic snap, the restraint fell from his left wrist.

Evan pulled his arm in, wrapping it over his face as he curled onto his other side, desperately trying to get away from whoever was standing there.

The person walked around him then, and with another quick tug, he was free.

Evan curled up tight, not wanting to be seen, not wanting to be touched or talked to, just wanting to be nothing. Empty like he used to be.

But he couldn't disappear, and the person didn't move, and eventually Evan looked out at the man who'd released him.

For a minute, and only that, he had no idea who it was. A young guy dressed in a simple shift, tall, with short dark hair and piercing blue eyes, looking down at him, guarded and wary.

And then it hit him, and his mouth fell open.

"You..." This was the kid he'd dragged from the snow. The kid he'd beaten and almost gutted.

The kid who said he'd killed Rachel, but that was stupid because a  _corpse_  killed Rachel. He knew that now.

The kid who'd...

Evan stared down at his chest in confusion and shock. He pressed a shaking hand against the left side of his ribcage, where he'd felt the blade enter, and felt no pain, no bandage.

Disturbed, he pulled at his hospital gown until the ties tore free from behind his neck and found himself looking at the unmarred skin of his chest. In disbelief, he pressed the spot again, but, there was nothing. It was as if it'd never happened.

But, he'd  _died_... he remembered dying! The kid, Rowan he said his name was, had stabbed him, just watched him die...

Evan's gaze rose slowly.

Rowan was still staring down at him.

As their eyes met Evan felt a crazy potential for violence, the certainty that the next second, or the second after that would end in blows and bloodshed, and his heart grew loud and fierce in his chest.

But the kid's gaze never wavered, and the seconds passed, and nothing happened between them. The energy left his body in a sudden rush, leaving him exhausted and spent, a feeling only amplified by the emotions that had ripped through him like a violent storm minutes before. With a small sigh, Evan's head fell back against the bed and he turned away.

Stephen was looking at him.

"You okay?" he asked.

"No," Evan answered flatly, and was surprised by his own honesty. He buried his head in his arms, and heard the kid walk away.

Evan didn't understand how he was alive. He'd died, he remembered that. Remembered the darkness pulling at his mind, drawing him under, growing cold and still...

And Stephen had held his grey hand. And his hand had been moving.

_What the fuck? Was I a corpse? I came back as a corpse?_

He had... he remembered that now... Stephen's hand on his shoulder, Evan had bitten him. Stephen had changed. They'd... they'd killed...

Evan slowly lowered his arms, and stared at Stephen. The man was staring right back at him, frowning in concern. Rowan was swapping out the bag hanging on his far side.

Stephen turned back to Rowan, "Are they bringing her in?"

Rowan nodded, glancing over at Evan, then back at Stephen. "I can't be here when that happens."

"Rowan, you should stay, it would be-"

"You were a corpse," Evan said suddenly, and they both turned to him.

Stephen nodded back, "We both were." He took a deep breath. "And so were you."

Evan's pulse started to hammer as he stared at the kid. They'd both been corpses? But, that wasn't possible! Corpses didn't come back! The kid had been talking shit back at the house... hadn't he?

"But...  _how?_ "

"We found a cure," Stephen said and smiled. Then he nodded back at Rowan, who was changing the bandages on his chest. "Thanks to this man. And you too, I think, though I haven't had a chance to test that yet."

The blood rushing past his ears was deafening. The kid  _had_ been a corpse... that meant...

The smile faded from Stephen's face. "Evan, what's-"

With a cry of absolute rage, Evan jumped out of the bed and launched himself at Rowan, stumbling briefly as he tore around Stephen's bed. He slammed into the kid, hard, knocking him back against some machine before they both fell to the floor.

"EVAN!" came a cry from above him. It was Stephen, pulling at his stupid hospital gown, but he didn't care, it didn't matter.

"YOU KILLED HER!" Evan roared, over and over as they wrestled on the floor, as he tried to punch Rowan, as he tried to get his hands around the kid's throat, as he tried to kill him for what he'd done. The asshole had been telling the truth! He'd ripped Rachel's throat out and left her in the dirt! "KILL YOU!" he growled, moving past words into desperate screams as the kid kept deflecting his punches, snatching at his wrists until Evan pulled himself free and tried again.

"We're... not... doing this... again," Rowan muttered beneath him, and suddenly Evan was flying back, the air knocked out of him as he fell and rolled against the cold tile. The kid had kicked him off, and was rising to his feet, staring at Evan in cold anger, a small trickle of blood on his lip from the first and only punch Evan landed.

"EVAN! STOP!" Stephen yelled at him, "Rachel's ali-" His frantic cry broke into a coughing fit, that quickly grew wet and violent as he doubled over, holding his chest.

Rowan turned towards Stephen, his face falling in concern, and Evan rushed forward, swinging wildly with his arm. He was going to crush this asshole, tear him apart!

But his fist never connected. The kid ducked cleanly away, and Evan's swing passed harmlessly inches from his face.

Rowan turned back with fury blazing in his eyes, and drove his own fist square into Evan's nose.

The blow sent a shockwave of pain through Evan's head as his nose broke with a loud crunch, and he fell backwards, blood streaming from his face, staring up at Rowan in stunned silence as he landed on the floor. But Rowan wasn't looking at him anymore. The kid's gaze was fixed on something behind Evan, and all of the anger in the guy's face had fallen away to shock.

"YOU LEAVE MY BROTHER ALONE!" a young voice screamed behind Evan.

As the voice tore through him, Evan's breath left him in a rush. He knew that voice. He knew that voice!

Time seemed to slow as he swiveled in place on the floor, blood dripping from his broken nose and spattering on the tile beneath him as he turned. When he saw her, time came to a shuddering halt.

Rachel was standing just a few feet behind him, flanked by a soldier, her arms stiff at her sides, her hands bunched into fists. Dressed in jeans and a tan jacket, she almost looked like a boy, her hair had been shorn so short. She was glaring over his head, at Rowan, her brown eyes blazing, mouth twisted in anger.

"You don't DARE touch him again!" she cried, and she took a step forward.

Evan tried to say something, but nothing came out, his throat had been ripped raw by his own rage, and he knelt there, stunned, as she drew near.

"I'm sorry," Rowan said in a small voice, somewhere behind him. "I didn't mean t-"

"GO AWAY!" his sister screamed at the top of her lungs, and Evan actually jumped. Her anger was washing over him in waves. He'd never seen her like this before. Never.

The kid sighed. "Stephen, are you-"

"I'll be fine Rowan, you go ahead. We'll be okay."

Evan stared at Rachel in disbelief, as her eyes tracked Rowan, watching the kid as he gave them a wide berth on his way to the door. Rowan looked back at them briefly, his face drawn in sorrow, then he turned and left the room.

Staring at the back of his sister's head, he finally found his voice.

"...Rachel?" the sound was small and broken.

She turned to look down at him, and the anger melted away as her big brown eyes filled with tears. Rachel looked so vulnerable then, like a kid once more, that his heart simply broke and he stumbled forward to gather her in a hug.

But Rachel didn't return it, standing stiff and straight against him, the tears refusing to fall.

Evan pulled away slowly, and stared at her. Her eyes were so much older than they had been when she'd left him that day, in the kitchen. Not like a rabbit's at all.

"Why didn't you let me die?" she said.

Evan blinked, completely and utterly floored by her question.

"W-what?" he stuttered, still kneeling in front of her, his hands gently holding her arms.

"When I turned, when I wouldn't eat what you ate," she persisted, her eyes incredibly sad. "Why didn't you let me die?"

Evan's face fell. All he'd wanted to do was gather his little sis up and hold her close. Never let her go. But something was different. She was different. There was something hard inside her. Something angry.

"I couldn't let you  _die_ Rach... you're my sister..."

"But I  _did_ die Evan," she said softly. "That wasn't me anymore, not really. I turned into something terrible, and you did terrible things to keep me alive. Why did you do that? Why did you hurt those people?"

Evan's throat grew tight, and he shifted, suddenly keenly uncomfortable. His hands fell from her arms and he looked down, unable to meet her eyes.

"And I don't mean later. I know what happened... later," she sighed, and the sound was so strange. Something so old coming from someone so young.

For a moment Evan said nothing, just stared at the pattern on her jacket.

"I couldn't handle it," he said finally. "I wasn't... able to deal with it Rach. I couldn't let you go. You weren't dead, not in my head. But I knew... enough. Knew what you needed." He looked up at her then, imploring her to understand. "They were bad people Rach."

"Not all of them!" she yelled suddenly, and he flinched. Her eyes blazed at him now, and he couldn't take it, he fell back onto his legs and stared at his hands, at the drops of blood splashing on his skin from his broken nose. The red seeped into the creases of his hands, sank deep and kept spreading.

"You  _hurt_  people Evan," Rachel said, so quietly he almost didn't hear her. "You hurt so many people." She paused, taking a heavy breath. "Just like you hurt dad."

Evan's world came to a screeching halt.

"W-what?"

"I know you killed him." The tears came then, trickling down her face as she looked down at him.

"But..."  _How?_  How did she know? Had she always known?! Did she see him do it?!

She shook her head, and more tears fell. "Don't say you didn't. I  _know_  you did. I think a part of me always has. I just didn't want to it to be true. But when I changed - when I changed  _you_... I knew everything."

"I..." Evan stared through her, his eyes blurring. When he finally spoke again, his voice was low and flat. "He... he was a bad guy Rachel."

"Yes, he was. But you shouldn't have done that. You shouldn't have killed him. You shouldn't have hurt all of those people. You have to be  _better_ than he was, Evan. You can't be bad too!"

"I'm not..." he started, and stopped, realizing he couldn't finish it, couldn't say what he'd mean to say. He'd never thought of it like that. That he was like his dad in some way. It made him feel sick.

"You can't be bad anymore!" Rachel's face was falling, crumpling, and she was changing, back into the little sister he used to know, the tears streaming from eyes squeezed in pain.

"I won't Rach, I won't," he whispered quickly, reaching out to her, wanting so badly to stop her tears.

"Because they'll take you away Evan!" The tears turned into sobs as her voice rose in a panic, "They're going to take you away from me!" She broke down completely, and he rushed forward, engulfing her in his arms.

"Sis... no..." He held her close, stroking the back of her head as she cried over his shoulder, her tears falling against his skin. "They won't, it'll be okay... I'll make it okay." His eyes rose over her shoulder to the soldier standing at the door, the one that had brought her in.

The man was staring down at him with hard eyes. Eyes filled with disgust.

Evan felt something deep inside respond to that look. Something that wanted him to rush at the bastard and slam his skull against the wall until it shattered and the pieces fell about him like red rain. From somewhere far off he felt his muscles tensing, readying, and his heart started to pound in his ears.

"Evan."

The voice came from behind him, warm and deep, and Evan blinked, breaking eye contact with the soldier. Stephen? He'd completely forgotten the guy was still in the room.

"Son," Stephen spoke again, calm and steady. "Come here for a moment."

Evan turned to look at Stephen, and the energy that had enveloped him moments before simply fell away. The guy was smiling at him, a slight smile, but warm, and he pulled something from a tray near his bed.

The doctor waved him over again, now holding a patch of gauze in his hand. "Let me look at that nose of yours."

Evan frowned, and wiped his already bloody hand across his mouth, wincing as he brushed his broken nose. The pain flared quickly, and he turned away from the soldier, the moment forgotten.

Rachel stirred and looked up at him, still hugging him close. He gave her a small smile and slowly stood, pulling her up with him. A wave of dizziness washed over him, but he rode it out and carried his sister to Stephen's side.

"I can walk silly..." she said gently, shuffling her way out of his arms, "You're the one who's hurt."

Stephen reached for Evan's face as he drew near, and he flinched away, not used to contact with anyone but his sister. Contact with his dad had always been a matter of extremes.

"Relax son," the doctor said with a reassuring smile, "I just need a closer look."

Evan tried to, staring down at Stephen with a frown as the guy gently turned his head and very lightly touched around the bridge of his nose.

"You keep calling me son." Evan said, sucking in a sharp breath when Stephen hit a tender spot. "Ow."

"Yep. And sorry."

Evan's face tightened. "You're not my dad."

"Nope," Stephen agreed. Wetting the gauze in a nearby glass, he started cleaning the blood from Evans mouth and upper lip, tilting Evan's head back again for a better look. "From what I've heard, that's a good thing."

Evan smirked.

"I take it he was abusive?"

"None of your business."

"Not true."

Evan snorted. "Excuse me?"

"It's absolutely my business. I'm a doctor here son, and because of our situation, and some of my particular talents, I'm one of the few people they turn to for mental health evaluations. Granted, I'm also in some trouble myself, so they may choose to ignore what I have to say. But ordinarily I'm one of two people they turn to to inform their decision."

Evan pulled back from Stephen's hands as he spoke. "What decision?"

Stephen dropped his hands and laid back on the bed with a tired sigh. "The decision on whether a person can stay here, in this community. Also, the decision on a person's mental state before conviction, which is a little ironic, in this case." He smirked.

Evan stepped away from the bed, glancing over at the soldier by the door before looking back at Stephen. "Conviction?" His throat was suddenly very dry.

"Yes, son," Stephen said quietly, his face carefully neutral. "You are facing some serious charges here. They've been through the house. They know what you did."

"What I..." Evan whispered, and his heart started pounding again.

"This is what I meant Evan," Rachel whispered at his side, and he looked down at her, the fear making his eyes wide. "They'll take you away."

Evan's breath started to come faster, harder, as he looked down at her and back at the doctor. Then his eyes sought the soldier again, caught that look again. Disgust.

He could grab Rachel, he could get to that guy before he could raise his gun, take it from him, get out of here. They wouldn't shoot him while he was holding her...

"Son." The doctor was speaking to him again, pulling him back from the brink again. Why did he listen to this guy? "Son, look at me."

Evan did so, his body tensed like a spring, feeling like a animal in a trap again, and he gripped the bars folded down at the side of the bed so hard he felt sure they would snap.

Stephen's brown eyes caught and held him, intense but kind. "Don't do what you're thinking. It won't end well. Not for you, not for your sister."

"I can't..." Evan's voice was a whisper. He hated it. Swallowing, he tried again. "I can't let them take me away from her."

"Then talk to me Evan. Cooperate. They have an amnesty for the dead here. A way to wipe the slate clean, but it only goes so far in your case. Your circumstances are... very different. Very difficult. But I can help you son, if you'll let me."

Evan stared at Stephen. Stared into him, but the doctor didn't look away, and held his gaze, steady and strong.

"Why would you help me?" he finally snorted. "You heard what I did, why help me? What do you get? You said you were trapped too - does helping me save your own skin?"

Stephen smirked at him, and Evan was suddenly livid. Suddenly wanted to punch the man, and his fist curled at his side. "Don't smile at me like that."

The doctor sighed, glancing down to catch Evan's tightening hand. Then he caught Evan's eyes again. The smile was gone. "I don't get any consideration. In fact, they might not listen to me at all. But it's worth a shot." Then he leaned forward, purposely pushing himself into Evan's space. When he spoke his voice was lower, only for Evan, not for the room. "I guess you could punch me if you think it'll make you feel better. But it won't. I'm willing to help you because I feel you deserve it. Because I feel you've had a shitty run so far, and it's time things got better. For both of you." He nodded at Rachel as well. "I want to help you because your life is worth something -  _you're_ worth something. That a good enough answer for you?"

Evan didn't speak. Didn't move away. He couldn't. The man's words rooted him to the spot, and hit him somewhere deep inside. What came up from that place got caught in his throat and brought a sudden rush of tears to his eyes. He looked down, unable to face what Stephen was offering him.

A second chance.

Stephen's face softened. "And what I'm seeing right now just proves it. You can be a good man, Evan. Let me help you. Talk to me. Shed some of the crap. Help me prove it to them." He nodded towards the soldier at the door.

Evan's gaze rose to meet the doctor's again, and the man's features blurred as fresh tears surfaced. Blinking them away, he stared down at the doctor, defiant, unwilling to give his trust that easily, that quickly.

But then... he remembered being dead, talking to Stephen, the man's voice calming him, pulling him out of his dead shell. The sudden storm of armed men, the rifles raised...

... and Stephen stepping in front of him, shielding him...

... and taking bullets meant for him.

Evan's eyes flooded again, and his mouth fell open as he stared down at the man's chest, at the bandages just above his heart. A wall broke deep inside him, and something very small and very young reached out and made him nod through the tears, made him take the man's hand as Stephen reached out to him again.

And made him lean in close as the man engulfed him in a hug.


	47. The Message

"Well... it's not as bad as I thought it'd be, honestly."

Rowan turned from staring in horror at their old home to look at his dad in disbelief.

"Dad... it looks like it's about to fall down."

Brandon said nothing, as he stood off to Rowan's side, but his mouth thinned to a tight line under his beard. Rowan wondered what was going through his little brother's head. This was obviously the first time Bran had been back to the house too. Didn't seem to be sitting too well with him.

Wasn't sitting too well with Rowan either. It was hard, seeing the place like this. The roof of the garage had partially collapsed, the gutters were hanging to the ground, and a tree had sprouted defiantly through the middle of the driveway, sending jagged cracks through the pavement beneath. Broken shards of color from the stained glass window over the front door littered the entrance walkway, and heavy curtains flopped wetly against the siding, torn and sagging through the shattered windows of the living room.

_Jesus, what a mess._

"This blows," Brandon muttered, his brow pinched and angry. "Remind me why we're doing this again?"

Rowan took a deep breath. Things had not been good between him and his brother since he'd kicked Brandon out of his apartment. This was the first time they'd been together since then, partly because he was busy at the hospital, but partly because he and his brother had been avoiding each other. They'd each made some token effort to hook up, but the plans always seemed to fall apart. Brandon had tried to beg out of this too, but their dad had insisted, saying this was a family deal.

Rowan had already told them why they were here, a couple of times now, and his dad had given him the same look each time. An irritating mix of sympathy, pity and incredulity. It was getting a bit old.

Honestly, he was starting to forget many of the details of that strange inbetween time, and starting to wonder if it'd really happened at all. So his Dad's looks were even more aggravating. In the end it didn't matter though - he was determined to pass on his mom's message, whatever it was supposed to be, and hopefully it'd mean something to his father.

If it didn't, this was going to be a little embarrassing.

A miasma of emotions saturated him. Anxiety, excitement, sadness... and a little dread. Returning home had been on his mind since his reunion with his family, but he'd been nervous about it too. This was their  _home_. So much more than just a building, it was a sanctuary of his childhood, a safehouse of memories. It had to be okay. It had to survive.

And while the city apartments were fine to live and sleep in, they'd never really felt like home.

Jesus, his old plane felt more like home than his apartment, and he hadn't been back to it since his fight with Julie. Lots of bad memories now, and he hadn't wanted to face their echoes since then.

Some part of him had always hoped they could come back here, and somehow reset everything back to normal.

_So much for that idea._

"Oh wait,  _I_ remember," Brandon announced suddenly, his voice laced with sarcasm, "We're chasing a dream about mom and buried treasure."

Rowan glared at his brother. Be nice if Bran could stop being such a dick, particularly since he was more open to this stuff than his dad.

Mark gave his son a pointed look. "Brandon, I know you're not happy about being here. Keep it to yourself." With a heavy sigh, he started up the path to the front door. "Been wanting to bring you both back here for a while now. This seemed like a good enough time."

"You've been back, right?" Rowan asked, following his father over.

"Yeah, about four years ago," his dad replied, playing with a loose panel of siding. When it came free in his hand he grimaced. "Came to get what I could salvage. Place wasn't so great then, that's why I'm surprised at how good it looks now."

"Good?" Brandon snorted, nudging a broken, sun-bleached gnome over in the garden with his foot. "Place looks like crap dad."

"Thanks Brandon," Mark said with a sigh. "Your observations are really helpful at this time."

Reaching the door, Mark stood in front of it for a moment, as if steeling himself, before pulling out his keys. Just as he was about to slide one into the lock, Brandon walked over and pushed the door with a flat hand, staring pointedly at his dad as he did so. It swung inward freely, revealing the shattered frame around the lock inside.

Mark glared at his son. Brandon glared back.

Rowan crossed his arms. This was not how he'd wanted this to go.

"Guys, can we, you know, get along for the minute it's going to take to do this?" he said finally, frowning at them both.

Brandon turned, his eyes still angry. "I dunno Ro, can we?"

Rowan sighed. "Yes Bran, I think we can." He held his brother's eyes intently as he spoke, "And I'm sorry I was a dick."

Brandon's gaze eased a little, but he quickly turned away, leaning heavily against the door frame. "Can someone else go first? I'd like to keep my happy memories of this place intact as long as I can."

Shaking his head and muttering something under his breath, Mark stepped across the threshold into the dark hallway.

Rowan went to follow, but stopped alongside his brother, trying to catch his eye again. "Bran, I mean it, I'm sorry."

Brandon nodded, but wouldn't meet his gaze, staring into the dark house instead. "Sure."

Rowan frowned at his brother, getting angry. "Sure?! What the hell Bran, I'm-"

"Jesus Christ!" Brandon snapped. "You're ready to talk  _now?_  We're standing outside the fucking corpse of our home, and  _now_ it's okay to talk?! Well I'm  _not_  ready Ro, and it's not okay! Back the fuck off!"

Rowan blinked, stunned at his brother's anger. "I was just-"

"Oh for god's... you were just  _what?_ " Brandon growled and pushed off from the wall, standing until he was eye to eye with Rowan, "Ooh, let me guess. Just a zombie, a corpse, dead? You were just a dead guy eating people? Is that what you were about to say there Ro?"

Rowan glowered darkly at Brandon, furious and hurt. Brandon knew exactly what he'd been about to say, and he was just being an asshole, purposely pushing him. "No you shit, I was..."

And he never finished, because something extraordinary happened.

The smell of breakfast, of bacon and eggs sizzling over a skillet, drifted lazily past them both and out of the house.

The brothers' eyes grew wide as they stared at each other, frowns gradually easing to expressions of surprise and wonder. Brandon took a long sniff of the air.

"You smell that?!" he exclaimed, and popped his head through the door. "What the hell?" Still sniffing the air, he pushed through the doorway and walked into the house.

Rowan followed, his nerves jittery. Echoes of that inbetween time, overlapping with memory, were playing through his head as he walked down the hallway. Running down it after his brother, giggling out of control as they raced each other into the living room. The walls were stained now, the paint peeling in large patches, and dusty footsteps showed where his dad and brother had gone before him, but it wasn't hard to sidestep that into memory. The pictures were gone of course, some of them back in the city apartment, but he still remembered them. Still remembered the white dab smiles of his brother's painting.

The scent grew stronger, and he stepped out of the hallway into the kitchen, and had to take a very deep breath.

Because he'd been here. He'd really been here, yelling at his mom, in that between place. When he'd broken her vision of the house, when he'd stood in the middle of dust and ruin, this is what it had looked like. Exactly. Tattered curtains, broken windows, dirt and droppings on the floor. The cupboards were open, empty save for a few dishes. The tiles underneath were littered with broken shards.

But that smell... it was still here.

Brandon was circling, staring at his dad. "Dad, I thought you were cooking!"

Mark looked over at him, and his eyes were sad. "What?"

"That smell!" Brandon cried, "Where the hell is it coming from?!"

Their dad rubbed his face wearily. "What smell?" he asked. "Wait, you mean that musty smell? Son, that's mouse crap."

Rowan closed his eyes and drank in the scent of bacon and eggs, and was pretty sure he could smell pancake syrup too. It was so good his mouth was watering. Why couldn't his dad smell it?

"Ro? You can smell it right?" Brandon asked him, a little desperately.

Rowan smiled and nodded. "Yeah." Then he grinned. "I think it's mom, Bran."

His brother's gaze grew soft and questioning, then he looked away, still trying to find the source.

"What are you talking about?" his dad asked, frowning at Rowan.

"Breakfast dad, we can both smell breakfast. It's amazing."

Mark's frown got deeper, and he tested the air. "I can't smell anything but old, run down house."

The smell slowly petered out, and was gone.

"Oh man," Brandon whined, sniffing the air again. "It just went away." He stared at Rowan. "That was so weird. Why didn't Dad smell it?"

Rowan shrugged. "Dad doesn't believe in stuff like that. I dunno."

"Okay, look," Mark said sharply. "I brought us here to see this place, to try and get you guys to make up," he pointed at them both, "and because I think it's important to do this as a family. But I'm getting a little tired of you leaning on me about that afterlife stuff, okay Rowan?"

Rowan looked down and nodded slightly. "Sure dad."

His father walked up to him and squeezed his arm, "Hey, don't take it like that. I'm glad you've found some solace in it. I think that's important. I just..." Shrugging, he let it fall away, and looked around the kitchen again. "Brandon, you were right, I was wrong. This place looks like crap."

Both Rowan and Brandon smirked at each other. Brandon looked away first, but the slight smile stayed.

Rowan felt good about that.

"Before we go digging," he said, tilting his head towards the stairs, "I want to just run upstairs, see my room for a minute."

Mark nodded. "Sure. I'm going to check the basement for anything else we can salvage. Brandon?"

Brandon sighed, giving up on the mysterious source of the scent, and pointed at his brother. "I'd like to go up too."

"Sounds good,' Mark said with a small smile, "See you both in a few." Then he walked around the corner and out of sight.

The brothers were quiet for a moment, listening to their dad's scuffling footsteps on the basement stairs.

Then Rowan smirked at his brother. "Race you?"

Brandon shook his head, "Too soon bro." But his smile stayed, slight but there.

"Thought so," Rowan said, quietly nodding.

Then he took off at a sprint anyway, grinning as he heard his brother swear and race after him.

It occurred to him, as he took the stairs two at a time, a wild laugh building inside him, that the house was in shitty enough shape for he and Brandon to go  _through_ the stairs into the basement, probably ending up on top of their dad. But, miraculously, everything held, and he beat his brother to the landing, stopping dead in front of his own door.

A half second after he stopped, staring in wonder into the dimly lit room, Brandon plowed into his side. They both tumbled to the dirty carpet.

"Ow," Rowan groaned, pushing his brother off. "Jesus, Bran..."

"Dammit!" Brandon yelped, trying to get to his feet, "I didn't know you were going to just stop! What the hell!?"

Rowan propped himself up on his elbows and laughed, "This is my room, you idiot!"

"Whoops." Grinning, his brother gave a little snort and extended a hand. "Sorry about that."

Taking the offered hand, Rowan pulled himself to his feet, bending over to give his jeans a dust off. "That's okay. I'll live."

He heard his brother release a deep sigh, and Rowan straightened to look at him, but Brandon wasn't quite meeting his eye.

"I'm really sorry," his brother said, his voice heavy, "I said stupid shit downstairs that I shouldn't have. I'm just not handling this well." He threw his arm around to encompass the house.

"I know, Bran," Rowan said quietly. "I'm sorry too. Didn't mean to be such an ass at my apartment."

Brandon looked up at him with a smirk. "You were a bit of an ass." Then he grew serious again. "But I pushed when I shouldn't have. I'm sorry about that too." He frowned. "I'm just... worried about you, Ro."

"I know that..." Rowan's gaze fell to the floor. "And you were right to worry."

Releasing a heavy sigh, he squeezed his eyes closed, and spoke quickly. "Bran, I have to tell you something I haven't told dad. I can't tell dad. And you can't tell dad. Promise me you won't tell dad."

"Okaaay," Brandon answered slowly, cocking an eyebrow. "I promise? Though it makes me nervous when I have no idea what you're going to say. What's up?"

"I... um," Rowan started, then stopped. This was hard. He tried again, "A couple of weeks ago, I almost..." His gaze fell to his feet again, "I almost..."

"You almost what?"

Rowan swallowed. How would his brother react if he told him? Was he doing more harm than good here? But wasn't this what they'd been arguing about? Talking to someone? Sharing stuff? He stared at his brother, torn.

"You're freaking me out a little Ro," Brandon said, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder. "Spit it out. I'm listening."

Rowan took a deep breath and nodded.

"I almost... took... my own life, Bran."

As soon as the words spilled from his lips, he found he couldn't meet his brother's eyes. He looked down at his feet instead and just kept talking. "I mean, I didn't do it consciously, well... no I guess I did, it was weird... hard to explain... but I actually pulled the trigger, and I don't know if I knew it wouldn't fire, or if-"

Suddenly, frantically, Brandon grabbed him in a hug, squeezing  _hard_. Rowan blinked, a little surprised, then smiled and hugged him back. It was nice. It'd been ages since they'd shared a hug.

"Ro... Jesus," Brandon mumbled against him, still holding him tight, "Jesus Christ... why? Why would you...?"

"Long story?" Rowan answered quietly, smirking against his brother's shoulder. Explaining what had actually happened would be... hard. "I was in bad shape Bran, I just... I haven't been able to deal... with what... I..."

His brother started to shake against him, and it wasn't until Brandon took in a sloppy breath that Rowan realized his brother was  _crying_.

"Oh Bran," he whispered, appalled he'd made his brother cry. "Hey, it's okay... I stopped myself... I'm doing better now... I-"

"You can't  _do_ that Ro!" His brother cried against his jacket, the words choked in sobs, as he held him tight, "You can't give up like that! You can't do that to me! To dad!"

Rowan squeezed his brother back, closing his eyes.  _Shit_. He'd never wanted to make his brother cry, ever. This had been a big mistake. "I'm sorry Bran... I never should have told you. Forget I said it."

The embrace ended abruptly as Brandon pushed him roughly away, eyes red with tears. "You fucking idiot!"

Stumbling back against the doorframe, Rowan stared at him in shock and hurt. "Jesus, I might have been an idiot, but maybe you cou-"

"No! That's not what I fucking meant!  _Dammit!_ " As he yelled the word, Brandon turned and punched the wall behind him, and immediately crumpled around his hand. "Fuck!"

Jaw falling to the floor, Rowan jerked forward to help his brother. "Bran?! What the hell?!"

Brandon pushed him back, "No, I'm okay... that was dumb. Ow..." Waving his hand to shake the pain out, his brother straightened up and fixed him with a glare. "Goddammit Ro, I can't believe you."

Rowan crossed his arms, mouth twisted in hurt. "Well that makes two of us! I try and share something with you and you swear at me and punch a goddamn wall?! Fuck this!" He turned, and stormed into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him as if he still lived there. As if he was ten years old again. God, he felt like an idiot for doing it, but Brandon's reaction had really  _stung_.

Frowning deeper, he looked around the room. It looked exactly the same as he'd seen it with his mom. The same stripped bed, sagging ceiling, old discarded toys...

It made his skin crawl.

There was a knock on the door.

Sighing, he walked to it and swung it wide. Brandon was leaning against the frame.

"What?!" Rowan snapped.

"Did you really just slam your door on me...  _again?_ " Brandon asked, smirking.

The anger deflated from Rowan in a rush. "Shit," he said, wincing. "Yeah... Sorry."

Brandon sighed. "Ro."

"What," Rowan asked flatly, staring at the wall by the door frame.

"You don't understand why I got upset, do you."

Rowan fiddled with a peeling shred of paint on the wall that looked a little like China. "Sure. I'm an idiot for almost killing myself. I got it. And no shit."

Brandon shook his head. "No. I mean yes, I was upset because you did that." His voice grew heavy. "It kills me that you almost did that. That things were so bad you even considered it. But I know sometimes that it's just horrible hurt, hurt that swallows you up, and you can't see past it. I understand that."

Rowan slowly looked away from the wall to his brother, disturbed by what he'd said. Had his brother ever...?

"But that's not why I called you an idiot, Ro."

Rowan frowned, and waited.

"You  _finally_ opened up to me," Brandon said quietly. "You finally  _shared_ some of the dark shit with me. You finally shine this little light on yourself, and make me feel like maybe I can reach you, help you, be there for you. And because I get emotional - and heads up, that happens when you tell someone you almost committed suicide - you try to take it away? You close that door on me? Again?"

Rowan stared at his brother, astonished. He hadn't realized that's what he'd done. Speaking quickly, he tried to explain. "I didn't want to make you cry, Bran... I-"

"Holy crap Ro, what else am I going to do? That's a normal reaction - anger too, it's  _normal!_ Might be hard to hear, but you've got to let me feel it!"

Rowan looked down, tears welling in his eyes. "I'm sorry Bran... I..."

Brandon pushed into the room and gathered his brother in a hug.

"Stop closing the door on me Ro." He sighed over Rowan's shoulder. "Dad too. I know you've been through shit we can't even imagine. And I know you've done horrible fucking things. I hate I can't take that away from you. But I'm your brother. I'm here to listen, to share that weight, and I can handle it." He pulled away a little to stare at Rowan, " _I can handle it_. So don't shut me out anymore, okay?"

Rowan looked at his brother as the tears spilled over, and nodded gently. "Okay."

Brandon grabbed him again, and held him as the tears kept falling, held him until they stopped, and then slapped him on the back.

"And pick your underwear up off the floor Ro, it's embarrassing," his brother said, pulling away with a grin.

Rowan wiped his face roughly and frowned at his brother, "What?" Then he turned around to look, and his heart jumped in his chest.

There, in the middle of the floor, just behind him, lay his old Superman briefs. They looked brightly clean, a wild splash of color against a faded, dirty carpet.

"Holy shit," he whispered, staring down at them, his eyes wide.

Brandon laughed. "Seriously bro, why'd you leave them in the middle of the floor like that. That's weird."

Rowan stared up at his brother slowly, shaking his head. "I didn't. They weren't there a minute ago."

Brandon's smile slipped slightly, then he snorted and turned towards the door. "Sure."

"No, really, they weren't there a minute ago!" Rowan insisted, flustered, then he spoke to the room, "Mom! Stop playing with my underwear!" As soon as the words left his mouth he winced, his skin flushing as he heard his brother losing it down the hall.

"Shut up Bran!" he yelled, and chased after his brother, "You used to run around the house in nothing but Batman briefs! I REMEMBER THAT!"

They raced down the stairs and into the hallway, Rowan wrestling to grab his brother in a headlock as Brandon jabbed him in the side, and almost ran into their dad, who was quietly waiting for them just beyond the kitchen, leaning against the stained wall as he watched them with a light smile.

Pulling up short, they both quickly straightened, Rowan getting in a jab of his own before pushing his brother away, "Hey Dad, find anything in the basement?"

Mark nodded once. "Yep." His smile grew as he looked back and forth between them, "I see you two worked it out."

Rowan shrugged, but couldn't stop grinning, and Brandon flicked him in the ear.

"Good," Mark said. "That's good." He nodded towards the back door. "You two ready to go outside?"

Brandon nodded, and spoke again as their father started down the hall. "Hey Dad?"

Mark turned back. "Yeah son?"

"I'm sorry I gave you a hard time before we came in. I just hate seeing the place like this."

Mark smiled. "I know. I'm not real happy about it either." Patting Brandon on the back, he pointed towards the back door. "Let's go do this and get out of here as soon as possible, okay?"

Rowan followed them both out into the back yard, and stopped just over the threshold, stunned.

The view was jarring. The last time he'd been here, in that between time with his mom, the garden had been vividly alive. Filled with birds and insects flitting between flowers sprinkled around the yard in every color of the rainbow, framed in greens that were almost glowing.

But it was an absolute wreck in real life. The only green thing was the big old pine tree, and a bunch of smaller saplings that had sprouted up haphazardly around it. Everything else was brown, dried under winter's chill, and there wasn't a single bird in sight.

It was really depressing.

"Where was it again Ro?" Brandon asked, grabbing one of the hand shovels Mark had pulled out of the shed.

Rowan shrugged, "Should be in the vegetable garden, that's where she said to dig." Jesus, he hoped something was here, otherwise he was going to feel like a fool.

"Now if we don't find anything," Mark said as he started pulling weeds from the vegetable patch, "I don't want you to feel bad, okay?"

Rowan smirked, "Sure Dad, I won't feel like an idiot at  _all_."

Brandon laughed, and joined his dad at the spot, getting his hands into the dirt and pulling the dried, matted grasses free.

A funny thought hit Rowan as he watched them, and he laughed.

Mark looked over at him. "What's so funny?"

Rowan shook his head, still giggling. "Nothing, I was just thinking, what if this was Mom's way of finally getting you to weed?"

Mark grunted at first, turning back to his work, then slowly started to chuckle. The chuckle turned into a quick laugh, and Mark stopped for a minute to wipe his eyes with a dusty hand before grinning back at Rowan. "Sounds like something she'd do."

Ten minutes later and the patch was completely bare to the soil. Brandon was taking experimental stabs at the dirt while Mark stared around the garden.

"God your mom loved this place," he said, his eyes soft. "She loved getting dirt under her fingernails, loved to help things grow. I feel bad for letting it go after she died, but it just... really hurt to be out here, I didn't have the heart for it."

"I know dad," Rowan said. He remembered his mom's words about the state of the yard, but decided to keep it to himself.

Mark propped his chin on his shovel. "I remember the flowers she planted. Yellow daffodils everywhere, they kind of got away from her actually. Some purple ones, I think they might have been irises or lilies? next to the house, rose bushes in the middle there and gardenias on the far side of the shed." A smile spread on his face. "Sweet peas too, those were her favorite, set up on the frame by the fence."

His eyes grew a little sad. "Was real pretty out here in spring. I miss it."

Rowan nodded. "Yeah, me too." Then he smiled, remembering the time with his mom again, "It was amazing when I saw it after I die-" Then he stopped, because he hadn't meant to bring that time up again, and gave a lame shrug instead.

Mark was smiling, watching him. "It's okay son. I'm glad you saw good things."

"Real happy you're both having a great time talking!" Brandon piped up with forced cheerfulness, "Because I'm having a  _blast_ on my knees in the dirt!"

Rowan snickered, "Find anything?"

Brandon rolled his eyes, "Not yet. But you could  _help_ , because then you would be  _helping_."

"I get the feeling this is something dad's supposed to do Bran," Rowan said honestly.

Brandon gave him a look. "Why didn't you say that before?" Getting to his feet, his brother slapped his dad on the back. "It's all yours."

"Great, thanks," Mark grunted, then he waved Rowan over. "Son, can you come here for a moment."

Rowan walked over and stood by his dad's side as Mark shoveled up a mound of dirt.

"I'm about ready to call it quits," he said, dumping the shovel load to the side, and striking in again. He dropped his voice low and tracked Brandon exploring by the old pine. "Are you going to be okay with that? Were you planning on dropping something in here? You can still do that if you want, might be a comfort to Brandon-"

"Jesus, Dad," Rowan sighed, "I'm not making this up. And I'm sure as hell not planting something to make you believe me!"

"Okay son," Mark said quickly, swinging his shovel in again, "I just didn't..."

Mark froze, and stared down at the vegetable patch.

Rowan crossed his arms, still angry at his dad's insinuation. "I know you don't like this stuff dad, but I didn't imagine it, and I'd appreciate it if you stopped..." Finally noticing his dad's stillness, his eyes followed the shovel handle to the dark earth. "What?"

Mark didn't answer, but tapped his shovel in again. There was an audible thunk.

"What?" Rowan asked, excited. "You find something?"

"Hmm," his dad said quietly, and slowly dug his shovel deeper, then lifted a mound of dirt clear of the patch.

As Mark tilted the shovel back and forth, the dirt slid off either side of the mound, exposing the edges of a wooden box.

"Holy shit," Rowan whispered.

"You guys find something?" Brandon asked, returning from the tree. The box spilled from the shovel as their dad lowered it to the ground. "Holy crap! Seriously?!"

Mark bent over and picked it up. The box wasn't that big. About the size of a thick paperback, and crusted heavily with mud. Mark brushed the dirt aside, his thick knuckles crusted with earth, and it fell in clumps to the ground, exposing ornate patterns of swirls and spirals in dulled blues and muddy golds.

Mark sighed heavily. Rowan looked from the box to his dad. His father's face was grave, the creases around his eyes and brow growing deeper, the sadness drawing in.

"You should open it," Rowan said quietly.

_This is it. This is the message._

His dad released another sigh, and gripped the top of the box, but didn't do anything for a moment, his eyes rising instead to meet Rowan's. "What's inside?" he asked in a thick voice.

Rowan shrugged and smiled.

"Treasure?" Brandon offered, then ducked aside as Rowan tried to jab him. "Come on dad, open it up."

"And you didn't...?" Mark said, staring at Rowan intently. His voice trailed off before Rowan could answer and he shook his head. "No... I guess you didn't."

Mark finally pulled the lid open. As Brandon craned to see inside the box, Rowan just watched his dad closely, as his father's brows drew in with a tight frown, then arched in sudden sorrow.

"Oh sweetie," Mark whispered quietly, as he reached in and pulled a gold necklace free. Dangling from it was a small gold heart, with a little hinge on the side. "Claire... sweetheart, why'd you bury this..."

Rowan stared at the heart. "Oh, wow. Dad... I remember her wearing that."

Mark nodded at him, and his eyes were damp. "Yeah... she loved this. I gave it to her for our fourteenth anniversary. Wanted to go on a trip, but you guys were really young and not up for traveling, so we stayed and I got her this." He draped it in his palm, "Never understood why I couldn't find it after she died. I looked everywhere..."

With his eyes vulnerable and sad, Mark pulled the locket open. Inside was a small piece of paper, folded a few times. Mark looked at Rowan again, his eyebrows rising with questions.

Rowan just shrugged again, but he could see what looked like writing on it.

Wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, Mark slowly unfolded the paper.

The tears started to fall as he smoothed the paper flat with his thumb, and he looked away briefly, clearing his throat before returning to the page. The words hit him then, as his eyes flicked over the paper, and he moaned, his face crumpling.

"Claire... oh honey..."

Tears sprang in Rowan's eyes, and he reached for his father. "Dad?"

Mark sobbed openly, tears falling against his dirt stained fingers as he raised a shaking hand to his mouth.

Through eyes squeezed in grief, he stared at Rowan for a moment, then grabbed him into a hug, doing the same for Brandon who'd stood nearby, jaw hanging open. He pulled them close, and held them as he cried, resting his head on Rowan's as he held the paper out for both of them to see.

Rowan reached out to steady it, as his father's hand trembled with each sob, and he read the note, his eyes blurring with new tears.

...

_Not long now Mark, I'm so sorry. Never meant to leave you like this._

_I know everything will be okay though, because you're a wonderful dad,_

_and our boys are beautiful, and I know they'll look after you too._

_One day you'll find this note sweetheart, and not by accident _,__

_but because I've reached you from that place you don't believe in._

_(I'll refrain from saying I told you so)  
_

_You'll know then that I'm okay, and watching over you all.  
_

_I love you Mark, always and forever,_

_Claire_

...

Brandon sniffed and cleared his throat. "Dad, there's something on the back."

Pulling his arms from them both, and wiping at the tears falling down his face, Mark coughed and turned the paper over. At first he smirked, then his eyes grew wide and rose to Rowan's with such a look of wonder that Rowan just looked back, astounded.

Brandon stared at them both. "What? What's it say?"

It dawned on Rowan then, that he could smell flowers. The same flowers he'd smelled when he had come here with his mom, a beautiful fragrance that filled the space around them slowly and completely.

Mark's mouth fell open as his nostrils flared widely.

Rowan grinned. "You can smell that, can't you dad?"

Brandon was staring around the garden, open mouthed. "What the heck..."

Mark nodded at Rowan, a slight motion, his eyes full of wonder and confusion. Then he turned, looking down at the paper again before looking around the garden, looking up at the house, and back at Rowan.

Lost. His dad looked lost. Rowan just smiled. "It's mom, dad."

His father looked so vulnerable at that moment it made his heart hurt. Mark's eyes fell to the note again, and he raised a hand to his mouth as the tears fell again, nodding gently.

"What's it say dad?" Brandon asked again.

Mark looked up finally, smiling through the tears, and spoke to the air. "I got it Claire. Love you sweetheart."

The scent swelled around them grew suddenly, much stronger than before, and then slowly faded.

Their father drew them into another hug, giving Rowan a kiss on the temple, and ruffling Brandon's hair.

"She always told me she'd leave me a message," he said with a short laugh, shaking his head, "Something to prove to me that all that stuff was real."

He held the note out for them both to see.

Rowan laughed out loud.

In his mom's flowing cursive, on the back of the page, and punctuated with a smiley was...

_PS: I told you so_


	48. The Beginning

The day dawned brightly in the small apartment and Rowan stared up at the ceiling, watching the pattern of gold light rippling there, bouncing up from the glass of water on his nightstand. The sunlight fell warm across his shoulder, tingling against his skin as he took in a deep breath and smiled.

The smile stretched into a wide grin.

Today. This was it.

_Holy crap._

It wasn't so much that he was nervous, though... yeah, he was a little nervous. It was more excitement. An excitement that made his head buzz. Or maybe that was just lack of sleep? They'd put him on late shifts at the hospital, and he hadn't crashed until after three, and even then it'd taken a while to relax, he was so keyed up for today. Julie had stayed at her own place last night because he was working late, the only downside to this new talent of his.

It'd been amazing. Hard work, but, incredible. Helping people felt awesome, whether it was comforting someone in pain, stitching up cuts big and small, mending a broken leg. Nothing had been as intense as Stephen's surgery, but it was all still incredibly...  _good_. The relief and gratitude he could see in people's eyes when he was done, knowing he'd made a difference, was worth everything.

Rolling over in bed onto his stomach, he peered out over his window sill at the city, and the mansion across the street. The doors leading out to the balcony he'd stood under that one night were closed and dark. Julie probably wasn't even awake yet, but he watched the curtains for a moment, looking for any sign of movement. Above them, the sun was just peeking brilliantly over the tops of the surrounding skyscrapers, and the sky was a beautiful clear blue.

_Perfect._

Blowing out a nervous mouthful of air, Rowan twisted off the bed and sat there for a moment, trying to run through the plan for the day. Tapping his fingers against the edge of the bed, he suddenly stood and moved to the record player, now sitting on the new shelves they'd brought back from home. Ducking to the shelf underneath, he thumbed through his record collection, finally pulling out a well worn Doo-wops & Hooligans album, and placed it on the turntable.

As the music filled the small apartment around him, he felt himself relax a little, started nodding to the beat, and wondered what in the hell he was going to wear.

 _Something cool._ Something not too formal, but not too sloppy. He pulled the wardrobe wide open and stared at everything he had. A new jacket, two pairs of jeans, four t-shirts, one plaid button down, some khakis, and a Christmas sweater with a giant cat on it that his brother had got him as a joke.

The nervousness returned with a vengeance, and he instinctively fumbled at his wrist for the rubber bands to flick, then smirked at himself as he grabbed only skin. Julie had helped him quit that little habit months ago.

His gaze rose to the ball of clothes wedged into the corner of the top shelf. With a small sigh, he reached up and pulled them down. A tattered and stained pair of dark blue jeans, a grey t-shirt that was falling apart (and not just because of the bullet holes and knife slits)...

...and a red hoodie.

Dropping the other two to the ground, he held the hoodie up, turning it back and forth, then draped it over his finger and poked through one of the bullet holes.

Then he pressed his finger against the faint scar on his chest where the bullet had passed.

 _Insane._  Life was just... insane.

And there was no way he was wearing that. Particularly today.

Balling it into a careless lump, he threw the pile back into the far corner of the shelf, and pulled out the button down shirt and a pair of jeans. He tried them on, then pulled the jeans off, muttering to himself, and pulled on the khakis. Staring at himself in the mirror, he pulled the button down off and pulled on a t-shirt. Scowling back at his reflection, he put the khakis on again, and threw on the Christmas sweater, which actually... didn't fit him too bad.

There was a knock on the door.

That'd be his brother, come to pick him up for the ride to the airport.  _Jesus, is it that time already?_

Taking two quick strides to the door, he wrenched it wide open and the words he'd been about to say died in his throat in a strangled wreck.

The thin man.

The thin bastard who'd broken his ribs was standing outside his door, eyes wide, looking completely unnerved by the sudden dramatic opening. Clean shaven this time, wearing a jean jacket and a winter hat.

A thrill of fear shot up Rowan's spine, and for a moment, he couldn't do anything but stare at the guy staring back at him. Only now the guy was doing a little nervous dance from foot to foot.

"Shit!" Rowan cried, finally over his initial shock, and went to slam the door, but the thin man stuck a foot out, wedging it open.

"No wait! It's okay! I only want to-" the man mumbled quickly, wedging his face up against the same gap.

"Fuck off!" Rowan yelled over him, and hammered the door against the guys foot.

"Ow! Ow! Man," the guy whined, and pulled his foot free, "That's not cool!"

Rowan pressed his back against the door, his breathing heavy, scanning for anything that might work as a weapon.

"Dude! Seriously! I'm sorry, I just wanted to say... well  _that_ actually, just that and that I..." The guy kept talking but it ended in mumbling that Rowan couldn't make out through the door.

Rowan stared into his room, not really seeing anything, his face twisting in confusion. "You what?"

"I  _said..._ well, if you open the door it might be easier to hear me. I won't do anything, I promise!"

 _Yeah right._ "You broke my fucking ribs asshole! You were going to shoot me!"

The guy sighed on the other side of the door. "I know. What can I say, I'm sorry. I'm real sorry. I've been talking to some lady and she's been helping me see things a little clearer. She's been helping a lot, she's really nice and..." his voice faded to mumbling again.

"Jesus..." Rowan muttered, and wrenched the door open a little, "What?!"

The guy pulled back and actually smiled. "Hey!"

"You were saying?"

"Yeah," the man nodded, "Oh, my name's Bill by the way." He put out his hand.

"Not happening," Rowan said bluntly, and looked back up at the man. "Please say whatever you came to say and leave."

Bill sighed, nodding. "I guess I can't blame you. I wasn't in my right mind, man. I'd killed my mom. Didn't know you guys came back, and I just couldn't take it, you know?"

Rowan was quiet for a moment, then slowly opened the door a little wider. "Yeah actually, I know."

"Yeah," Bill agreed, nodding up at him again. "Anyway, I'm sorry I did your side in. That's all I came to say. Take care of yourself and all. I have to do some community service in this building, so you might see me around." His face brightened, and he reached through the door to slap Rowan on the arm. "Maybe we could have a beer sometime, on me!"

Rowan just stared at the guy, not understanding what had happened to reality. "Uh... maybe?"

"Okay... I'll go now. I'm glad you were here. I was a little nervous, you know. But you're cool, and that sweater is killer, man. I love cats. I'll see you around!"

Bill turned and headed back down the hall with a short wave.

Rowan stood, staring at where the guy had been for a long while, then slowly closed the door, stepping back into the room.

Had that really just happened?

Was he going to have to move now?

_Wait, what did he say about my sweater?_

Looking down at himself, he groaned. Jesus, of course, because what else would he wear when crazy people come to visit?

He stormed back to the wardrobe, and was about to pull the damn thing off, when there was another knock at the door.

Rowan smirked. His brother wasn't going to believe what just happened. Taking two strides to the door again, he pulled it open, and again words died in his throat, messily, as his heart did the two-step in his chest.

Crouched in front of the doorway, about level with the doorknob, was Evan. Evan with a short white beard, that made him look a little like Santa on a really bad day. The guy slowly straightened up to look him in the eye.

"Oh FOR FUCKS SAKE!" Rowan yelled, and slammed the door shut, flicking the deadbolt home. What the hell was going on? Why were all of the crazies coming to his home? What the fuck was that asshole doing out there? And why was he crouched down? A thought hit him suddenly and he yelled through the door. "What the hell were you doing?! Peeping through the keyhole?!"

There was a sigh on the other side of the door. "You don't have a keyhole moron."

Rowan looked down. He did not, in fact.  _Well, crap._

"What the hell are you doing here," he growled through the door.

"Got something for you," Evan answered, his voice low. "Was going to slip it under your door and leave, but she made me promise I'd knock first."

Rowan frowned and stared at the door handle. "What is it?"

"A letter."

Gritting his teeth, Rowan unlocked the door and opened it slowly.

Evan smirked, his eyes cold, and held out the little slip of yellow lined paper. Rowan could see where black marker had leeched through to the other side of the page. He reached out and took it, then stood there, staring Evan down.

"Don't ever come here again," he said quietly.

Evan shrugged. "Wasn't intending to. By the way. You ever see that girlfriend of yours, tell her I'm sorry for hitting her with a shovel."

Rowan started through the door, his face twisting in rage, "You fucking ass-"

Evan put a hand up and stepped back. "No, I mean it. Shouldn't have said it like that. Not trying to press your buttons, just... tell her sorry."

Frowning darkly, Rowan scanned Evan's eyes and was surprised to find that the guy seemed to mean what he said. Not that it mattered that much. Rowan was a moment away from breaking the guy's nose again.

"She's not going to hear anything from me about you, ever," he said sharply. "And don't bother apologizing to me, I'm not interested."

The man with the shock of white hair snorted loudly, and his mouth twisted into a sneer. "Why the hell would I do that?" Shaking his head with a laugh, he turned away from the door and started down the hall. Just as he reached the stairwell he turned back and gave a sarcastic thumbs up. "Oh and,  _great_ sweater."

Then he was gone.

Rowan stood in the doorway, his heart thumping madly in his chest, adrenaline leeching from his limbs.

_What a complete asshole._

Wait... what had he said about his sweater?

"God DAMN IT!" Rowan cursed, and stepped back inside his apartment, slamming the door behind him as his face flushed bright red.

Wrestling with the sweater, he managed to pull it off and threw it into the corner of the top shelf.  _Never, ever, again!_

And he was definitely going to have to move.  _Jesus._

Something crunched under his foot as he went to grab his jacket, and he looked down.

It was the little slip of yellow paper.

Stooping over to pick it up, he released a soft sigh. Based on their last meeting, it was probably filled with nothing but swear words and exclamation marks. God, that'd been terrible. It'd cut right through him, the anger and hatred in her face as she'd screamed at him to go away. A part of him had hoped he could apologize to her, finally make things right. But the timing had been horrible, and she'd walked in just as he'd leveled her brother.

A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, despite his sadness. Actually, that had felt really, really good. He should probably feel bad about that, but he couldn't, though he wished Rachel hadn't seen. Rowan knew on some deep level that there would never be any good feeling between Evan and himself, ever.

He unfolded the note and read Rachel's words, scrawled in black marker.

...

_Hello._

_The lady I see with my brother said this would be a good idea. I'm supposed to talk to you about what I'm feeling. I guess I can do that. Evan is doing okay. Stephen is a good man, and is being the dad to Evan that he never had, though Evan doesn't know that's what he's doing. He's good to me too, though I don't think he knows how to handle girls. I'm okay, though I have nightmares a lot. And there are too many people in my head._

_I never want to see you again._

_It makes me angry to think about you, and what you did to us. I know you couldn't help it. I couldn't help hurting people either. But I still don't want to see you ever again._

_Goodbye,_

_Rachel_

_PS: I forgive you._

_PPS: Thanks for finding me._

_PPPS: Your music is stupid._

...

Rowan stared at the three little words at the end of her letter and his throat grew tight.

_I forgive you._

For some reason, it hit him hard, and he had to wrestle with himself for a moment to keep from breaking down. Shaking his head against the lump in his throat, he reread the note. Most of it was really what he'd expected, though it was interesting to see what she had to say about Evan and Stephen. He had no idea how deep the connection between those two had become.

That was... good. Perhaps the guy deserved a second...

_Nah._

Rowan smirked at the line about his music. It'd been the way they'd met. Guess it was finally time she told him what she really thought.

Folding the sheet back up, he placed it in a little dish of knick knacks on his chest of drawers.

_I forgive you._

There was a knock on the door.

Rowan jerked back and stared at it, half expecting the creature from his nightmare to break the door down and deliver pizza.

"Who is it?" he asked, wondering if he should grab something heavy just in case.

"Bran's taxi service you schmuck, open up!"

Blowing out a relieved breath, Rowan pulled the door open. "Bran, you would NOT believe the-"

Bran pushed past him into the apartment, "Ro, we have to go if we're going to be ready before she comes." He turned and cocked an eyebrow. "Wait, is that what you're going to wear?"

Rowan looked down at himself. He was wearing a green t-shirt and beige khakis. The t-shirt was riding up around his midriff thanks to the hasty sweater removal. With a frustrated growl, he ripped the t-shirt off and went for the button down shirt.

Jesus, he need to get some new clothes.

Pulling his shoes on, he snatched the jacket from the hanger, and finally started towards the door. "Okay, I'm ready, let's go."

Bran coughed and crossed his arms.

Rowan looked back. "What?"

"Sure you're ready?"

"Yeah," Rowan answered, taking a last look around the room. "Good to go, I've... oh crap." He started patting down the jacket, the pockets of his khakis, his actions getting more and more frantic as he twisted in place.

Bran cleared his throat again and held out his hand with a wry smile on his face. "Think you might need this."

"Je- _sus_ , thanks." Rowan reached out and snatched it away, tucking it into his inside pocket. "Okay, now I'm ready."

Brandon grinned. "Yep you are. You nervous?"

Rowan smirked and gave a little shrug.

His brother laughed. "Let's get out of here."

The drive to the airport was quick, and preparations went smoothly, so much so they had some time to burn before Julie arrived, and he spent it wandering with his brother through the terminal, showing him the places he'd gone while he was dead, and the dull routine of escalator travel that had filled his days.

"You  _are_ nervous," his brother said suddenly as they rode the walkway back from the outer gates for the second time.

Rowan nodded. "Yeah, a little." He couldn't help it. This was a big deal. He'd thought walking through here might calm him down a little, but it was just weird to be back. This was the first time he'd walked these hallways alive. At least the walkways were more fun when he could move without shuffling.

"And you know what you're doing, right?" his brother asked suddenly, "I mean afterwards... this isn't your first time, right? You'll get it up?"

Rowan smirked. "I know what I'm doing. I've done it hundreds of times, well... a part of me has. I'll get it up just fine."

Bran cocked an eyebrow. "Wait, are we talking about the same thing here?"

Rowan frowned at his brother. "What? What'd you think..." then it finally sunk in, and he punched his brother in the shoulder. "Bran!"

Brandon just laughed.

They made their way out of the terminal, passing the bar again where he'd sat with M almost every day for years, and headed out onto the tarmac, into the bright sunshine. The day was perfectly clear, with very little wind, and there wasn't a cloud in the crystal blue sky.

_Perfect._

Waving as his brother walked off, Rowan made his way to his plane, patting his jacket pocket again before sitting on the metal stairs leading to the cabin.

A slight breeze stirred around him, teasing his hair, and he closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of it in the warm sunshine.

It was only a few minutes before he heard the sound of a car engine, and he opened his eyes and leaned forward on his elbows as the red convertible drew near. The top was down and Julie's hair was streaming back over the seat. As she drew near he could see the wide smile on her face, and he grinned back.

"Hey!" she said, pulling up alongside the stairs.

"Hey," he answered, and his grin turned goofy. He hadn't seen her since last night, and he'd missed her.

Julie giggled at his smile, and climbed out of the car, coming to meet him on the stairs, but he rose and met her halfway, linking his hands in hers and pulling her close.

"Hey," she said again, looking up at him with a bright smile.

"Hey..." he answered and leaned down to her, drawing her into a soft kiss.

When they parted, she pulled back and pointed to the car. "Are we going somewhere?"

"Yeah, but not in that. Not just yet. I want to show you something."

"Oh cool," she said, and her eyes flicked to the plane door. He saw something cross then, a shadow of a memory that drew her brow in briefly. "Something in the plane?"

Rowan shook his head, and kissed her forehead. "Nope. It's this way." He walked away from the stairs then, pulling her with him, squeezing her hand gently.

"Hmm... mysterious..." Julie said dramatically, and giggled. "Where are you taking me?"

"This way," Rowan answered, and pointed vaguely towards the other side of the airfield where there was another hanger and a couple of small airplanes.

Julie laughed, "Oh, helpful." She smiled, and embraced his arm as they walked. "How was the hospital?"

"Good. Took care of an old lady who'd fallen on some stairs, sewed up a gash on her head, took some x-rays. She's doing well. Another guy came in with a fever and vomi-" he stopped himself and grinned. "It was good."

Julie looked up at him with a brilliant smile. "I'm proud of you. You're helping so many people."

"Yeah," he nodded. "It feels good, though I don't like being away from you nights."

Julie gave a little shrug. "It's okay. We'll make it work. I just think it's wonderful you're able to tap into that experience and use it."

"So am I."

They were getting close now. He could hear the whine of the engines. His heart was starting to pound, and he drew in a deep breath.

"Have you found anything else to tap into? Anything else you could use in some way?"

Rowan grinned. "Funny you should ask."

Julie peered up at him, "What?" Then she cocked her head, "Hey, you hear that?" She spun in place as they walked, "What's that noise?"

"Turbofans."

"Turbofans?"

"Yeah." Rowan smiled, and squeezed her hand again. "Jet engines."

"Jet...?" Julie's eyes grew wide. "R? What are you...?"

Smiling broadly, he gently pulled her forward, and as they walked around an old propeller plane with a shattered windscreen, a small jet came into view, the twin engines set on the tail just above the sleek cabin. A high pitched whine surrounded them as they walked closer.

Brandon stood at the base of the ramp leading into the plane, a wide grin on his face.

Rowan watched Julie, smiling softly. Her mouth had fallen open and she was staring at the plane in complete shock.

She turned to look at him finally, her expression curious, and the warm sunlight glinted in her hair like gold. "Rowan?"

Wonder filled him as he stared at her, she was so incredibly beautiful.

_I'm the luckiest man in the world._

Heart beating a frantic rhythm against his chest, he took another deep breath. This was it. This was the moment. He'd thought maybe it was on the plane, but this felt  _right._  Slowly, he reached into his jacket and drew out a little black box, then he slowly dipped to one knee before her.

Julie's eyes grew impossibly wide as her hands shot to her mouth and she drew in a startled gasp. "Oh my god!"

"Julie," he started, staring into her eyes with a soft smile.

"Oh my god..." Her voice was barely above a whisper as her eyes brimmed with tears.

"Julie, I love you," he said softly, his heart thrumming in his chest. "I always have. Ever since I first saw you, when my world was a muffled grey place, and you were this blazing light that nothing could ever smother or hide." His hand sought hers, and he squeezed her warm fingers, smiling briefly down at their joined hands.

"That light brought me back, Julie.  _You_  brought me back. I'm alive because of you, and I couldn't live without you. You're my whole world." He paused for a quick moment and grinned. "I know I threw something casual at you in the hospital months ago, but that was never meant to be a proposal. This is."

Julie laughed through the tears and nodded, her eyes bright with joy.

Gently opening the box, he held it out to her. Nestled inside was a gold ring, and set within, glinting deep red in the sunlight, was a ruby in the shape of a heart.

Julie's gasp was all he needed to hear.

"My heart is  _yours_ , Julie. It always will be. I'm asking you to spend the rest of your life with me, and in return," he grinned and nodded towards the jet, "I'm going to bring you the world. I'm not sure what it's going to look like at first..." His gaze grew reflective, then he laughed, "Well, actually I do, it's going to be a big mess. But I know what it'll look like when we're done with it."

He smiled up at her again.

"Wonderful."

"Rowan..." Julie whispered softly, tears streaming from her eyes, as she reached down to cup his face, leaning in to kiss him deeply.

Grinning against her lips, he pulled away. "I haven't finished asking," he whispered back.

"You don't have to," she answered with a soft smile. "I'm yours. My answer is yes."

She leaned down to him then, kissing him over and over as she laughed against his lips, her eyes sparkling. Smiling back, drawn into those eyes, Rowan rose from the ground, and wrapped his arms around her as their kisses turned slow and deep. He lost himself in her scent, her warmth, the tremble of her heartbeat. For a while they were a shared breath between two souls, and it was perfect, and right, and wonderful. He was lost, and found in her arms, and knew he would be for the rest of his life.

Brandon cleared his throat, loudly enough to be heard over the whine of the engines.

"Uh, guys, I hate to break the mood, but you might want to get this thing in the air before you run out of gas."

Rowan surfaced, and Julie followed, and they stared into each others eyes for a long moment, before he reached out for her hand.

Holding it gently, he slowly slid the ring onto her finger.

It was a perfect fit.

She looked up at him, her eyes glistening with new tears. "It's absolutely beautiful."

"Like you," Rowan said softly, and kissed her again. Then, with a big grin, he took her hand in his, and led her over to the base of the stairs.

Brandon gave them both a big thumbs up. "I totally cried!"

Laughing, Julie leaned over to give him a huge hug, then with a quick glance back to Rowan, she started up the stairs. Rowan couldn't stop grinning as he went to follow, and his brother gave him a big clap on the back.

When Rowan joined Julie in the plane, she was staring around the cabin in wonder. "Wow!"

"Yeah," he nodded back, smiling. He'd been surprised when he'd first seen it too, it was nothing like his 747. The interior of the jet was very modern, all sleek lines with large leather seats and polished wooden tables.

Rowan made his way to the cockpit, gently leading Julie into the seat to the right. Then he sat down on the left and ran through the pre-flight checks. Now that he'd actually proposed, he had a wonderful sense of calm inside. He wasn't nervous at all. Just... excited.

Everything checked out perfect. They had enough gas for just under a thousand miles, but they wouldn't need it. He was going to fly her out over the city, some of the country out west and back again. No more than four hundred miles round trip.

Signaling to his brother outside to remove the chocks, he smiled across at Julie.

She was watching him, her mouth open in awe. Watching him adjusting dials and switches on a console that must have looked incredibly complicated, but spoke to him clearly with everything he needed to know.

Brandon gave the thumbs up, and Rowan pushed forward on the throttle, easing the plane out of its spot and towards the secondary runway, which they'd been clearing for a week.

It felt good. It felt familiar. It felt like he'd done it a hundred times before, even though he'd only been on two test flights, one his dad had insisted on leading, just in case.

"Rowan... how?" Julie finally said, her eyes wide in wonder.

He shrugged, and looked a little embarrassed. "I ate a pilot?"

Julie's mouth close as her head tilted thoughtfully. "Oh." Then she looked at him and smirked.

"A good pilot?"

"Jesus, I hope so."

She laughed, then looked guilty for doing so, but he grinned back and reached out to squeeze her hand.

Finally, they turned into position at the start of the runway, and Rowan smiled, glancing over at Julie. Grinning a wild grin, she was completely focused on the tarmac ahead.

"You ready?" he asked.

"Always," she answered.

Pushing forward on the throttle, he built the power up quickly and released the brake, and the engine whine rose to a sharp whistle as they moved forward, building speed until they were both pushed flat against their seats.

Julie's grin grew wilder and she laughed out loud, throwing her head back in delight.

With a grin of his own, he pulled back on the wheel, and the ground fell away beneath them.

As Julie let loose with a wild whoop, thrusting her hands above her head with the exuberant cry, he laughed, and turned back to look into the cloudless blue.

He'd give Julie the sky today.

And he'd give her the world tomorrow.

THE BEGINNING.

* * *

_Well folks. That's all she wrote! I hope you enjoyed it! I know I loved writing it :)  
_

_(I am completely lying about being all I wrote. I have an epilogue waiting in the wings, but I want to give this chapter some time to breathe before I post it...)  
_

_I hope you've enjoyed the journey with me. I had an incredible time writing it, and was completely surprised at what happened as it unfolded._

_I've also got a soundtrack running through my head for many of these chapters. Think I'll add to this later with the tracks I picked. :D (oh, this one would be 'Marry You' by Bruno Mars, hence the album he pulls out at the beginning of the chapter)  
_

_Since you've just 'consumed' 127K+ of my thoughts here, I have a request. Don't be a zombie and shuffle off without leaving a comment, no matter how small. ;)_

_And everyone - thank you so much for reading :)_

_Jen_


	49. The Epilogue

Rowan stood outside of the small church, its stone facade crammed in between two modern skyscrapers, and checked the address again on the flyer he'd brought with him.

This had to be the place.

But a church? Why'd it have to be in a church?

As he stood there, feeling close to fleeing at a run from the property, a couple approached, hand in hand, and smiled at him before taking the steps up to the large arched wooden door. Before entering, the lady looked back.

"Are you here for the meeting?" she asked, a bright smile on her face.

He shrugged, and folded the flyer in his hand. "I'm just looking around," he said lamely, and wished they'd continue on so he could vacillate in peace then leave.

"Oh," she said, and gave a knowing grin. "Well, you should look around inside, it's much more interesting." With that she came back down the steps and took him by the hand.

As she tried to lead him up the steps, he leaned back. "I was just... it's for a friend... wasn't really going to," he warbled, gesturing back towards where he'd been standing.

The girl smiled brightly as she drew him up the steps, and patted him gently on the hand.

"It's your first time, I get it," she said reassuringly, "Just give it a try, you'll be happy you did, right Ben?"

The guy who'd been following nodded, "Yeah. I was skeptical at first, thought it was a joke. But this lady, she knows what she's doing." He grinned, and continued talking as they made their way through the dimly lit vestibule to the back of the church, "The nightmares have almost stopped, and I just feel, I dunno,  _lighter_ , I guess. I'm not carrying around as much... guilt?"

Rowan raised an eyebrow.  _Why did they sound like a cult?_  "That's great, but I-"

"Here we are!" The lady said in a bright tone as they turned down a hallway and through a doorway into a well-lit community hall peppered with motivational posters. Rowan had a moment to absorb the fact that there were about twenty people seated on metal chairs in a large circle in the middle of the room, before the lady drew him in further.

 _Aw crap._ There were so many! He didn't want to be here, why'd he come? What if M found out? He'd never hear the end of it!

"Hey everyone, I've got someone new, he's a little shy about being here," she said in a bubbly voice.

 _Seriously?_ Rowan felt his face burn, and looked down as people started to turn in their seats.

"But I know he's going to be really happy he came, so lets give..." she leaned over to him, "I'm sorry, I didn't get your name?"

Noise built up steadily around them, the murmurs and whispers from the group, and many of those who'd turned around actually gasped out loud.

_Oh shit._

"Maggie, do you know who that is?" one of the gathered said in an awed tone, and Rowan started to wish he could crawl under a nearby desk and hide.

This was why he'd avoided this so far. This was why he spent as little time as possible in the common area of his apartment complex. Why he kept his head down when he walked the streets.

"No, I don't Bob, who is it?" Maggie turned back to stare at him in surprise.

"R?!"

Rowan's jaw dropped as he turned to see the owner of the very familiar voice, jerking up from a chair.

"M?!"

His friend was staring at him, his almost bare head no longer marred by the large scars he'd sported as a corpse, his skin a little flushed in embarrassment.

"What are you doing here?!" they both asked each other, in perfect unison.

"Uh..." they both said again, in almost perfect unison, as they looked awkwardly around, trying to come up with an excuse for being at a support group for the once-dead.

"Shit," R muttered.

"Crap," M said with a smirk.

Maggie's eyes were popping open. "You're R?! You're  _him?_ "

Rowan winced.

"Oh my god! I've been wanting to meet you ever since I heard the stories! Ben and I, we're new to the city, in a complex outside of the old wall, along with a bunch of folks they've been bussing here for the cure... god, they'll be amazed... I never thought I'd actually  _meet_ you! Is Julie here? Is she coming?"

_Oh god. Help._

"Did you know they're talking about putting up a statue? I think it's-"

"Maggie," M butted in, walking over to them, "You're a sweetheart, and don't take this the wrong way, but I'm going to rescue my friend now."

"Oh. Oh..." she giggled and blushed, watching R with bright eyes as M took him by the arm and lead him to the circle, pulling over an empty chair.

Almost everyone was staring at him in varying degrees of wonder and admiration as he took his seat. It made him want to pull his shirt over his head, and he sank back, drawing his arms around himself tightly. Some of the people he recognized from his apartment complex, and one lady in particular from his outburst a couple of months ago. She was smiling warmly his way, and he returned it weakly.

Then he leaned into M. "A joke, you said. These meetings were a joke, and only good for 'people who couldn't pee without getting permission first' I think were your exact words."

"Say that louder, that'll go over great," M muttered back. "Also, your response was 'yeah'. As in, you agreed. So why are  _you_ here?"

Rowan gave a short bark of a laugh, "Don't turn this back on me!" he cried, grinning at his friend. "Have you finished the sad tale of your dick yet, or do I need to pull out the violin for the next installment?"

M burst out laughing, then coughed as he caught the stares of many of the group. Looking at R, he smirked. "I came here because I was having some trouble, believe it or not." His face grew serious, a rare sight for Rowan. "It's really helped. This lady isn't a quack, she's not some fluffy granola hippie weirdo. She's real, she's been there, and she helps people like us cope."

Rowan blinked, a little astounded by his friend's sincerity. Also by the use of the term 'fluffy granola hippie weirdo'.

"What have you got against fluffy things?" he asked, trying in make his friend smile.

"I'm being serious," M said, and drew his arms across his chest.

"Sorry," Rowan said quickly, "I just... I'm not used to seeing you like this. You're always cracking jokes. I had no idea things were bad."

M shrugged, sighing dramatically. "Yeah, well... I am a fragile butterfly at heart."

Rowan snorted.  _Back to regular M._ He looked around the group. Some were still studying him, others had turned to their neighbors and were deep in conversation. "So, how does this work? Someone just start talking? Which one of these is the lady?"

M shook his head. "She's not here yet. Happens sometimes, she has a practice outside of this I think."

"Huh," Rowan grunted. "I wonder if she's the same lady who sent two crazies to my door a week back."

"What?"

"Don't ask."

"Okay..." M said slowly, giving him a look. "So why are  _you_ here?"

Rowan smirked. "I wanted to be adored by my people. Their worship gives me str-OW!" He jerked back with a yelp as M kicked him in the leg.

"I'm kidding!"

"Well don't, not with this group."

Rowan sighed. "I just wanted to see what it was like. Julie wanted me to try it too."

M made a whip noise, flicking his wrist.

Rolling his eyes, Rowan shoved M over. "It's not like that. I had... a bad time. Really bad. I almost... well, it was bad. She thought this might help, though I think I found a way to help myself." He shrugged and left it at that.

His friend stared at him, his brown eyes tight with concern, then grasped R's shoulder and squeezed, shaking him lightly.

Rowan nodded, looking down at his hands. "Thanks." Then smirked as M kept shaking him, and finally looked up at his friend, grinning. "Really? How long are we doing this?"

"As long as it takes baby!" M said with a grin, and they both fell into laughter.

"I'm sorry I'm late everyone," came a soft, slightly accented voice from the doorway behind R, and a figure with long black hair moved around the circle to the far side.

R looked down at his hands again, a little nervous. He had no idea what to expect, he'd never been to anything like this before. Would he have to talk? What if he had nothing to say? What if he said something stupid? How could he talk about what he'd done? He looked up and stared at the other people around him, knowing they'd been where he'd been, had killed just like he had, but it was strange. They all looked so normal. So human.

_Just like me._

The lady had her back to him, and was rooting through her bag for something as the rest of the group waited patiently. He tried to work out the nationality he'd heard from her accent, something Middle Eastern? European? It was light, but definitely there. There was something familiar about it, but he couldn't quite place what.

"I hope everyone had a good week," she said as she pulled out a folder and a pen.

There were murmurs and confirmations from the group, people smiling and nodding, but one man to R's left, about half way around the circle, looked like he was about to cry.

R stared at him, not meaning to, but unable to help it. Was that going to happen? Was he supposed to cry in front of people? Was that the point?

_Jesus, I need to get out of here!_

He twisted towards M, and tried to work out a plan to stand and somehow climb over the chair without looking like an idiot and falling over.

"Oh no you don't," M said quietly, and put a steadying hand on his arm, "You're here now, just stay for one, see how it goes."

"But... there's crying!" R whispered frantically, as the guy to his left burst into tears.

M smirked. "Yeah, that happens. Particularly with that guy. Can't turn that tap off." Then he smiled. "I've done it myself R. Felt good."

Rowan stared at his friend, wide eyed. That was not something he'd expected. M started looking a little uncomfortable with the attention, so Rowan changed gears. "You have tear ducts?"

Grinning, he brought his arms up to defend himself as M elbowed him.

"Okay everyone," the leader's warm voice drifted over the group, "who'd like... to..."

The lady's voice petered off oddly, and R looked over, but he didn't get a chance to see her as she'd quickly raised a blue manila folder in front of her face.

"I would Amala!" Maggie said perkily, looking his way.

_On no._

"We have a very special guest today," she continued, beaming brightly as she gestured his way, "I brought him in you know. It's R, Amala, the one who changed everything!"

At that, the entire group clapped, smiling his way, all save the lady and the guy who hadn't stopped crying since they started. With a weak smile, Rowan sank lower in his chair, shooting a dirty look at M as his friend snickered beside him.

The clapping died away, and everyone slowly turned to the lady, who was still holding the folder up. The stiff card was crimping under her grip.

The woman cleared her throat and moved the folder slightly, enough to look over it at the group, though her head was tilted and her hair covered her eyes.

"That's.. great Maggie.." she said and cleared her throat again, "Welcome R, it's... good to have you here."

This was the lady everyone raved about? She seemed a little weird.

"Amala," the crying man suddenly piped up, sniffing thickly, "I need to talk about something, I had a bad-"

The woman interrupted him, "Yes, you usually do Roger..."

Everyone in the group turned to look at her with varying expressions of surprise. Even Roger had stopped crying and was just staring at her with his mouth open.

The leader coughed again, "I'm sorry, I did not mean it that way... forgive me everyone, I seem to be getting a cold." With that she bent forward, plucking a massive wad of tissues from her bag, which she promptly placed over her mouth, her nose, and the majority of her face as she dropped the folder to the ground.

Rowan almost laughed out loud, but stifled it as M nudged him in the side. This lady was cracking him up.

"Do continue Roger," she finally offered, and Roger did indeed continue, launching into a painful recollection of how spreading peanut butter on his sandwich that morning had brought up the stolen memories of a boy he'd killed in an abandoned subway tunnel.

Rowan listened, and it surprised him, the chord Roger's tale struck inside. The guy had a right to cry. It was horrible. But no more horrible than anything R himself had done, and he suddenly realized that maybe he'd done the right thing coming here.

Everyone nodded and murmured sympathy and encouragement throughout Roger's story, and he broke down even more, then seemed to exhaust his tears and grew quiet.

"Thank you for sharing Roger," the lady said, her voice a little muffled by the bunch of tissues over her face.

She turned away and looked over the entire group for a long moment. "We have a slightly different format today, friends. I hope you will not mind."

The people around the circle raised eyebrows, shrugged, smiled, and generally assured her that they did not mind, and she nodded back.

"Good. Today I am looking for your feelings about something we have not explored before. Something few of us have experienced, but something worth sharing, that may lead to surprising revelations."

Everyone waited patiently for her to continue, as Rowan stared at her, trying to work out why her voice was niggling his brain. The fact that she still had tissues over her face was driving him nuts, but he figured she just didn't want anyone to catch what she had.

That actually made him giggle. Someone worried about infection in a group of people who used to be zombies.

"I wish to ask you all, what would you say to the person who bit you, to the person who infected you, if you had a chance to meet them?"

Murmurs and muttering broke out in the group, and Maggie giggled.

"Would you be angry? Would you be afraid? What would you," the lady nodded her head towards Rowan, "say to that person?"

Maggie raised her hand as Rowan pointed to himself, wondering if the woman had meant for him to go first. But Maggie quickly broke into another giggle, and grasped her partner's hand tightly.

"I married mine!" she blurted out, and leaned over to give Ben a little kiss.

Ben smiled and looked down at their clasped hands before nodding to the group, "It's true."

Almost everyone in the group was looking at them in stunned silence, including the lady, who'd dropped her tissues slightly. Rowan stared at her profile, feeling something he couldn't quite put a name to.

"I killed the little shit who bit me," M said suddenly.

Rowan turned to stare at his friend, completely surprised. M had never shared anything about his turning with him.

M had everyone's attention, so he shrugged and continued. "Yeah, I was in the airport john, doing my best imitation of a cherubic fountain, when this dumbass frat kid shuffled in and jumped me." M shook his head, "I had no idea what was going on, ended up braining him with a toilet seat. But not before he banged my head against the mirror and bit me."

M laughed suddenly, and a couple of people actually jerked in their seats. "I guess if he was in front of me right now, I'd ask him how the fuck he managed that, since I made sure to flush."

An elderly woman a few seats over from M was looking at him with such utter disgust that Rowan snorted out loud, then quickly gathered himself.

"Marcus," Amala said with a weary sigh, tissues firmly restored, "I have to remind you again of your language."

M smirked. "Sorry Amala."

"I wish I had the bastard in front of me, I'd kill him!" someone yelled to their right, and all heads turned to the source, a short man with glasses wearing a sweater vest. "Corpse killed my chihuahua! Poor Nessie was just trying to protect me... the bastard!"

The man grew silent and said nothing more, and R just shook his head, wondering if insanity was catching.

Turning back to the lady, he saw she was staring directly at him.

"Thank you Oliver," she said, glancing to the vested man before nodding back at R, "I would like to give our newest member a chance to weigh in now. R, what would you do?"

The sudden attention made him feel distinctly uncomfortable, and he shifted a little anxiously in his seat.

"You're among friends R, please, whatever is on your mind."

"Um... well," he started, feeling his cheeks starting to burn. "I'm not sure."

Someone else raised their hand.

The lady gestured for them to lower it, and stayed focused on Rowan. "Please continue."

Rowan took a deep breath. What would he do? Jesus, just the thought of it stirred something angry inside, something that wanted to rant and rave about what being dead had stolen from him. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that there was so much more he would say.

"I'd be angry I think, at first. Maybe enough to start swinging," he said quietly, and the lady nodded slowly. "But... I think..." He took another deep breath. "I think I'd actually say... thank you."

The entire room around him seemed to gasp, and even M gave him a funny look. A couple of people repeated the words in astonishment.

"Thank you? Why the hell would you say that?" a lady with dark skin muttered around the circle to his right.

Another guy with long hair sitting opposite Rowan laughed out loud, and kept laughing, until Amala gave him a look.

"I want to remind everyone that this is a non-judgmental environment," she said, "Let's give R the space to speak."

She turned back to him. "Why would you say thank you, R?"

Rowan started to shrug, then stopped himself.  _Enough shrugging._

"Because, if she hadn't bitten me, my family and I would have been evacuated."

Amala's brow dipped. "Wouldn't that have been a good thing?"

"Maybe. But I'm not even sure the plane made it to its destination. I'm not sure if where it was going was safe."

She nodded, "I see. But surely that was a better option than dying and living now with the deaths of so many?"

Rowan frowned, then shook his head. "No, it's not."

" _Why?_ " Amala asked, and there was something about the way she needed the answer that made R stare at her for a long moment. She coughed into the tissues and shifted in her seat. "Why not? Why, after everything, would you say thank you?"

Rowan released a heavy breath.

"Because of her, my family stayed here, and they helped build a wall that kept thousands of people safe. In doing so, they stayed safe, and we're back together again. Because of her, I saved a man's life with the memories I took as a corpse, and I'm using that knowledge at the hospital to help more people every day."

Rowan smiled. "Because of her, I met Julie, and because of her, I fell so deeply in love that I came back to life, and somehow... I dragged the rest of the world up with me."

The room had gone completely quiet around him.

"So I'd look that person in the eye," Rowan added, "and I'd say thank you."

As he finished, R realized he felt really good. Thinking about this had given him some perspective he'd never had before. M was right, this lady knew what she was doing.

A member of the circle on the far side from Rowan started to clap, and slowly it spread until everyone, including M, was applauding what he'd said.

Everyone but Amala.

Who was crying.

"Amala? Are you okay?" Maggie asked, with a look of shock on her face. Rowan guessed this wasn't something that happened very often.

Amala nodded and slowly gathered herself.

"Thank you for sharing, R," she said quietly, her gaze lowered. "It was... very good to hear." Then she looked up and around the group. "I'm going to have to end tonight's session a little early tonight everyone, I apologize. We'll meet back here next week at the same time, yes?"

The group hesitated at first, with the members looking back and forth at each other shrugging, before a few stood to leave, followed by the bulk of the circle. A few stragglers went to talk to Amala but she apologized to them and waved them off as she gathered her things.

"Huh," M grunted. "Whaddya know."

Rowan shrugged and looked over at M. "Guess we should go."

M stared at him with a strange smile on his face.

"What?" R asked. "You were right by the way, she's good. That felt really good."

"That's good," M said, then he smirked. "Seriously? You don't know?"

Rowan frowned at his friend, "Know what?"

"Wow."

"What?!"

M looked at Amala, and back at Rowan.

Rowan looked at Amala, who seemed to be having problems shaking the last member of the group. Her back was turned to him.

He looked back at M and smirked. "You're being weird. Come on, I'd like to catch up with Julie."

"Let's wait just a few more minutes," M said, stretching back in his seat, propping his hands behind his head. "I have something to say to Amala."

Rowan watched as she waved the last straggler off. "I don't think she wants to see anybody else M."

"Oh, I think she'll want to hear what I have to say."

As the leader pulled her bag to her shoulder and rose to her feet, M leaned forward in his chair, calling out to her, "Amala."

She did not turn, but adjusted the clasp of her bag. "Marcus, I really must get home, and I have to lock up, so if you could please-"

"You should tell him," M said softly.

Rowan looked at M, confused. "Tell me what?"

M shook his head and laughed. "You could've eaten his brain after all Amala, I don't think it would have mattered."

"M, what the hell?" Rowan sputtered, offended. What was M's problem? Why would he say something... like...

"Oh Marcus," Amala said with a sigh, and dropped her bag to the floor.

Rowan's mouth slowly fell open as he started putting the pieces together. The choice of topic, the tissues, Amala's need to hear him speak, her crying...

"Holy  _shit_ ," he whispered, staring at the back of her head, eyes widening as his heart began to race.

"Kapow! There we go!" M cried out, and sat back again. "Now where's the popcorn?"

Amala sighed again, raising her head as she squared her shoulders. "Marcus, you are such a child."

"I wasn't the one hiding behind a faceful of tissues all night, Amala," M shot back, then his tone softened. "You didn't have to you know, Rowan's a good kid."

"I know that," she said quietly. "But I did not want to scare him." Turning around, her big brown eyes met Rowan's.

The moment he saw them, framed in the same face he'd seen eight years ago, Rowan felt like he'd been punched, harder than when Evan had broken his nose, and stared in utter shock at the woman who'd turned him into a corpse.

M had been watching with a big grin on his face, but it began to fade as Rowan's breath started coming too hard and too fast.

"You see?" Amala sighed.

"Hey, buddy, relax," his friend said, grasping his shoulder, "That was ages ago."

Reality, memory and dream collided in his head as he fought to breathe, part of him clinically understanding he was having a panic attack, another part too busy reliving the past in vivid, horrible detail. She was the woman from his nightmare vision in the hospital, alive, slowly turning into the boney, she was the blood drenched monster who'd killed a man right in front of him on the bus, whose silver eyes were so  _knowing_ as she bit him. As she took  _everything_ he had...

_shitshitshit_

Amala took a step towards him, raising her hand. "R... you are fine, I'm not-"

R jerked back the moment she took the step, his chair scraping loudly against the floor, and watched her face fall as he fought to control himself, still feeling completely overwhelmed. Why couldn't he get a decent breath? Jesus, he was staring to get dizzy!

_God, am I going to faint?!_

"Whoa, R..." M said, alarmed and reaching for him again, "Calm down man, everything's okay!"

Squeezing his eyes shut, Rowan tried to ride it out, still cornered by the ghosts of the past, but desperate to steady himself. Was this what Rachel felt, seeing him in the hospital that day? That'd been all anger though, not this blinding panic. Jesus Christ, Amala just bit him on the ankle, she didn't rip his fucking throat out!

"I should go," Amala said quietly, and Rowan heard the jangle of her keys. A normal, mundane, human sound. Desperately, he focused on it, and finally found his breath, drawing it in slow and steady.

_Not in the bus, not in the nightmare, sitting with my friend, I'm okay._

He opened his eyes, finally feeling as if he was regaining control, just as Amala reached the doorway.

"Wait..." R managed, his voice a little hoarse. "Please don't leave..."

Amala stopped at the door, but didn't turn around.

Rowan released a shaky breath. "I didn't mean to panic... I just... that was..."

"A surprise?" she said from the doorway.

"Yeah," he answered, and smirked. He'd been about to say  _insane._ He'd never had a panic attack before. It was bizarre that something could hit him that hard after eight years. That he could rationally understand something wasn't a threat, but couldn't stop reacting as if it was. It'd been horrifying. But at least he wasn't dizzy anymore. Fainting in front of M was not something he'd ever live down.

Amala was still standing by the door, and still hadn't turned around.

Rowan sighed. "Please come back, I think I'll be okay this time."

She turned slightly. "You sure? Because it might not-"

He nodded, blowing out another breath. "I'm sure."

Amala slowly returned to her original seat across from them both. R watched her move, fascinated, still feeling echoes of fear, the overlapping past, but staying focused on the color of her eyes, though she would not look at him directly, and the warm tan of her skin.

_Living, breathing, human._

M rubbed his hand down his face, looking contrite. "I'm sorry I pushed that Amala," he muttered, glancing at Rowan in concern. "I didn't know you were going to flip out."

"I didn't  _flip out..._ "Rowan grumbled awkwardly, crossing his arms.

M laughed. "You completely flipped out. You were going to faint!"

Face burning, Rowan looked down. "I was  _not..._ "

"Uh huh."

Rowan looked up to see the grin spreading on M's face and groaned inwardly.  _Dammit... I'm never hearing the end of this!_

"I've seen it happen before," Amala said from the other side of the room, and R turned to watch her, equally disturbed and fascinated. "The moment of an attack is a very visceral thing. It stays with you, long after you've reconciled it mentally."

God, it was so surreal. The woman who'd turned him into a zombie was trying to reassure him about his anxiety. The thought made him laugh out loud.

Both Amala and M gave him worried glances, and shook his head. "I was just... um... never mind." He slowly let go of a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"Do you feel better?" Amala asked gently, still not meeting his eyes.

Shrugging, Rowan spoke as honestly as he could. "Uh... I guess? I don't... really know how I feel. I can't believe I'm talking to you. I can't believe you're here."

Amala nodded, looking down at her hands.

"I thought you'd died," he said.

She looked up at him briefly, frowning, then dropped her gaze again. The moment stirred another flicker of memory and R swallowed.

"I mean," he added quietly, "after the bus... I never saw you again. Not in the city, not at the airport. Nowhere in between." He shrugged. "I wasn't looking for you of course, I was dead, but looking back... you just disappeared. I thought you'd been killed."

A small smile played at Amala's mouth and she shook her head.

"What happened to you? Where'd you go? It was always at the back of my mind, that you might show up, but I never spent too long thinking about it, because I'd get..." he trailed off, not wanting to say it.

Amala's eyes sought his. "Angry?"

Something deeper stirred in him then, as he looked into her eyes, and it had nothing to do with fear. His pulse quickened and he quickly looked down, breaking eye contact as he took a steadying breath.

"Yeah," he answered and crossed his arms again as his leg began to bounce.

"You feel that now." She said. Not asking, but telling.

"Yeah," he breathed, his pulse beating hard against the skin of his neck. Then he met her gaze. "I do."

Amala stared back at him. "Because I took your life," she said quietly.

Grinding his teeth, the muscle tensing at the side of his jaw, he glared at her.

"You took  _everything_ from me," he said, his voice deeply bitter.

She straightened in her chair, holding her head high. "The disease did that, not me."

"You gave it to me," he snapped, "On purpose. You knew what you were doing."

Amala sighed. "I can't explain that. There was something about you, and you drew something out of me I had not felt since I'd died. And I was never the same after you."

Rowan blinked, and the anger melted away a little. "What do you mean?"

"You asked me where I went? After the bus? I went home Rowan, I wandered home, completely confused, completely lost. Still dead of course, but not understanding why I was that way, and looking for answers." She smirked. "I still killed those I encountered. I still had to eat, I was still driven to  _take_. But it was strange. I didn't understand why, and none of the other dead had answers, because none of them were  _thinking_."

At her words, Rowan's mouth fell open. "You were changing."

"Apparently. But I never connected with anyone else, so I never changed further. I stayed confused and lost, killing, returning home, standing in my living room for hours looking at these pieces of my life. Until that day when everything changed, and I no longer had the need to take. I stayed at home, existing between strange, memory soaked dreams, until someone found me. Another corpse, coming back to life, looking for others to save."

Amala smiled then, looking past Rowan. "When she found me, I was too weak to move. So she stayed with me, our connection was immediate and strong, and we drew each other up out of the dark. And we are still together."

"Huh," M said, and Rowan looked at him, having almost forgotten he was there. His friend had a curious smirk on his face.

Amala ignored M and smiled at R, "I guess I can thank you for Sam, just as you wanted to thank me for Julie."

The anger left Rowan in a tiring rush and he looked down at the floor, "So much for that, huh."

Amala frowned, "What do you mean?"

Rowan smirked, propping his chin on his hand. "So much for my intention to say thank you." He shook his head, "I don't know why I'm so angry... it wasn't your fault."

Amala gave him a kind look. "Rowan... you are angry because no matter what you said before, all of the good things you'd thank me for came at a terrible cost. Your memories, your family, what makes you  _you_ has been restored, and by some miracle the world... but the lives you took can never be returned. And you took many. As did I, as did Marcus."

M held up a hand. "I was a vegan zombie, I only ate vegetarians."

With a roll of her eyes, Amala shook her head. "Also, your friend is stuck at the mental age of twelve."

Rowan grinned. "Yeah, I know."

Amala gave him a sad smile. "For what it is worth, I am sorry."

With a gentle nod, Rowan returned the same sad smile. "Yeah. Me too."

Smiling warmly at him, Amala slowly rose to her feet, before grabbing her bag. "Marcus, I am glad you pushed. It was a good thing. And I think now I  _can_ ask you to leave, because I do have to lock up, and I wish to get home to my wife."

M grinned at R, waggling an eyebrow. R just shook his head at his friend, and they both got to their feet, following Amala through the church and out onto the stone stairs.

The night air was cool, but tinged with spring, and Rowan took a deep breath, basking in that promise of life, returning. He looked at Amala, who was turning back to lock up the old wooden door.

"Amala?"

She turned from the door. "Yes?"

"Same time next week?"

Grinning, she nodded. "Yes, and this time, I will not hide behind tissues."

With a laugh, Rowan turned and walked down the stairs to his friend. Then he turned back.

"Oh, Amala," he called out, "I forgot something."

Amala looked up again, curious. "What?"

Rowan smiled, looking her straight in the eye.

"Thank you."

And with a bright grin, R turned and walked away.

THE END

* * *

_I had intended to add a second epilogue, but really it was kind of tacked on, and while quite lovely, was a little too rushed. I am currently thinking of another story for these characters, and if I publish it, I'll include it there, with the attention it deserves._

_So this is the official ending for this story, I hope you liked it. Ever since the fifth chapter, where R casually recounts the support group, I'd been wondering if it would pop up in the story. And I'd always wondered what happened to the lady who bit R from my first story. When both the thin man and Rachel mentioned a lady helping them I wondered if it was her, and what R would do if he saw her._

_Never knew he'd say thank you, until I wrote it. ;-)_

_If you've enjoyed my story, I'd love to hear from you in a comment or PM. And, as always, thanks for reading!_

_Jen_


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